I Am Become Death
by Masterdramon
Summary: For seven chosen individuals, death was but a new beginning; a chance offered by the Gods of old to join a mission greater than themselves, and to bring a final end to an inescapably chaotic world. Seven-part miniseries.
1. Part I: Rudger Goodwin

**I Am Become Death – Rudger Goodwin**

_Disclaimer: In case you haven't figured it out yet, I don't own Yu-Gi-Oh! 5D's. All Yu-Gi-Oh!-related characters, settings, etc. are the intellectual property of Kazuki Takahashi._

[-]

_We knew the world would not be the same. Few people laughed, few people cried, most people were silent. I remembered the line from the Hindu scripture, the _Bhagavad-Gita_. Vishnu is trying to persuade the Prince that he should do his duty and to impress him takes on his multi-armed form and says…_

"_Now I am become Death, the destroyer of worlds."_

– **Julius Robert Oppenheimer, 1965**

[-]

Doctor Rudger Goodwin was quite proud to say that this was the first time in (or perhaps it was more proper now to say _outside_) his thirty-four years of life that any experience had ever managed to strike him speechless. Although admittedly, the fact that he was currently at least nominally deceased was likely to have something to do with that.

Just minutes ago, he had undergone the indescribable agony of Domino City's pioneer Momentum reactor releasing its entire energy payload in a single burst…from point-blank range. Of course, there was a rather notable reason for this – namely, that _he_ had set off the event personally, in order to attain precisely this particular result – but that didn't prevent the whole ordeal from hurting like motherfucking Hell.

Oh, but that was no longer proper…the word "Hell" was not to be used henceforth as a casual oath, for that was the divine plane to which he had now so valiantly wrenched open the gateway. He could hear their voices now, screeching and howling in victory; the ones that had revealed themselves unto his unworthy eyes and ears once Rudger had taken the advice of that enigmatic man in white and laid sight – _true_ sight, unhindered by the falsities and illusions carried about by so many other mortals – upon the Hikari no Yami; the light-that-was-darkness.

But one voice, a deep and imposing tone interspersed with otherworldly clicking noises, echoed far louder and far more deeply than the others…and it was this voice that was commanding Rudger to rise, and finally seize his promised immortality.

Slowly, Rudger Goodwin's eyes reopened, steely blue now surrounded by pools of depthless ebony. The world outside his mind took several pregnant beats to come into form, but by the time it did the fresh revenant found his field of vision to be far clearer and infinitely more detailed than anything he had _ever_ beheld in his previous life. These were no longer mere inanimate objects surrounding him, refracting petty light that his ocular nerves absorbed and then processed into a mental image…nay, now they were all part of a cohesive whole, a unified darkness to which Rudger's soulless body had finally been joined. Oh, if this were the glory of mere _sight_ in this new form, the former human could only imagine what new ecstasies might be brought from indulging in his _other_ senses!

Almost giddy with anticipation, Rudger decided to find out. Smell appeared to be right out from the onset, as both his mouth and his nostrils were steadfastly refusing even to draw breath, but that hardly mattered; what was the appeal of sweet scents to a dead man, after all? That this development was likely to entail a loss of his sense of taste as well was an equally trifling matter, for gustatory reactions could hardly be said to be useful for a being that no longer seemed at all desirous of food or beverage. No, the hunger that had gnawed at his stomach for the past few days as he worked tirelessly to bring his vision to fruition was permanently abated, and all the worthless sensations associated with that mortal dependence on sustenance would not be missed.

Of the basic five, that left only the auditory and tactile senses, and these were where the superiority of Rudger's new body to his feeble, human one was beginning to make itself unambiguously apparent. Like his eyesight, the former researcher's hearing now so far outstripped the eminence it had held in life that it hardly seemed appropriate to even refer to them with the same word – humans were limited to _hearing_ the sounds of the planet, whereas he…no, no, there _was_ no term in the Japanese language remotely capable of describing this experience. Were the Bard to be right and all the world were indeed to be a stage, Rudger now felt as if he was cognizant of every single element of this metaphorical theater, from the props to the backgrounds to the very script itself.

And as for touch…well, as with all the other elements relating to this cold and ashen shell he now inhabited, it had been heightened to a point his formerly science-obsessed mind had never even dared to _dream_ possible. A casual punch against the steel walls of this now-ruined research center left a fist-shaped indentation; a dash from one end of the collapsed laboratory to the other crossed several dozen meters in a manner of seconds; an experimental leap propelled him high into the air, grasping a light fixture as he descended back to the ground and hurling it hard into the opposite wall, simply to prove that he could.

Continuing to jump across the floor and then from wall to wall, invariably reminding himself of that garish "Spider-Man" character in those absurd American comic books Rex had always been reading in their youth, Rudger let out a hearty, bellowing laugh, projecting widespread echoes of pure elation all throughout the devastated facility. The truth was undeniable – melding with this deep-voiced entity had not only rendered Rudger Goodwin inhuman, but _superhuman_ as well!

_Indeed it has. But enough of these childish frivolities, My new host…We still have much work to do._

"Who…who speaks?" Rudger demanded of the disembodied voice, unwittingly falling back down to the cracked floors and leaving a spacious crater in his wake. "I was under the distinct impression that I was alone; how could anyone _else_ have survived that?"

_You shall never, _ever_ be alone again, Rudger Goodwin; of that I can guarantee. And as for My identity…well, I believe that formal introductions are hardly in order. After all, We are now rather quite…intimately acquainted._

Rudger enacted a sharp intake of breath as the epiphany struck him, before belatedly remembering that there was no longer any point to such perfunctory gestures. "You are…the voice of the God who entered my body when I was struck by Momentum's bounty," he murmured, utterly thunderstruck by the realization. "I can feel your very essence even now, filling me, empowering me…becoming _part_ of me."

_That is because we are one, My chosen avatar, now and forevermore. Gaze upon your forearm for proof: you are the first in what shall be a small army of emissaries for the cause of the Underworld, working from within the mortal world's own bounds to bring a Hell-upon-Earth that shall never cease! Yes, bear witness to My mark…the mark of the first Dark Signer!_

And even as Rudger did as he was bid, turning his newly blackened eyes upon a pattern running along his one remaining arm in the shape of one of the Nazca geoglyphs he had witnessed only about a week prior, both the voice and the sinister glow surrounding the birthmark peaked in their intensity. Purplish mist was streaming from the line-pattern spider in nigh-endless quantities and slowly coalescing into a massive physical figure – a very _real_ arachnid that towered over the ruins of this ravaged test chamber, its piercing cry splitting the night as it stretched its multiple legs for the first time in, were the stories true, over five-thousand years.

"Earthbound God Uru…your faithful disciple is honored," Rudger declared in soft reverence, prostrating himself as if the words simply weren't enough to convey the dept of his veneration. "Do with me as you will, for as much time as it takes to bring your noble goals to their ultimate culmination!"

"There is no need to bow to Me, My host," Uru assured him, now speaking in what were decidedly audible tones rather than hushed whispers across Rudger's damaged psyche. The spider God's pincers occasionally clicked with enough force to bisect a tree trunk in order to emphasize its speech, but otherwise there was no visible indication that it was communicating at any given time; its words simply _were_, and it needed nothing so petty as a mouth-movement in order to convey them. In any event, however, their meaning here was clear, and Rudger hastened to obey and straighten himself into what he hoped was a respectful stance of attention.

"I wish to impart upon you knowledge, Rudger Goodwin…knowledge that you shall use to begin waging War against the hated servants of the Crimson Light in the years to come," the Jibakushin went on. "Hear now Our story, mortal who hath ascended to his greater calling…hear it, and heed its lessons well."

Then the ruinous Momentum chamber shattered and warped, and a few seconds later Rudger was no longer standing in what remained of Domino City, Japan…but somewhere far different. Their surroundings were pitch-black, the only light to be found being the scarlet glow of the laylines that crisscrossed along Uru's body…except now there _was_ something to be seen in these shadows, a twisting mass of color and shape which disappeared just as soon as Rudger noticed it. Taking a closer look, the former human gradually began to realize that this entire plane was in constant flux, forms and figures flitting in and out of existence with all the definition of a Jackson Pollock painting.

The sounds were far, _far_ worse, however…great screeches and cries, ranging from the wheezing moans that marked old men to what were unmistakably the agonizing shrieks of infants, filled the blackness with an asynchronous cacophony, melding together until it almost seemed as if this world _itself_ was groaning in hopeless anguish. And yet, in the very next moment, all would be perfectly silent; attempting to predict this place was an exercise in futility.

"Where…_are_ we exactly, my Lord?" Rudger requested of his new God, causing the titanic spider to lower its head slightly and regard its new avatar, as if it had only just remembered that he was still there.

"Where else, My host? This magnificent realm is none other than the Underworld, the final resting place for the most sinful of mortal souls," Uru answered. "But be silent now…Our Master shall soon address Us."

"_You_ have a master?" Rudger exclaimed, a bit louder than he had intended. Uru was saved from explaining this revelation further, however, by a piercing, banshee-like wail that seemed to rend this entire plane in two, heralding the emergence of another formless shape from the depths of this unending darkness. Even with his newly heightened senses, Rudger knew instinctively that he would not be able to come any closer to perceiving this new creature within the confines of its home, its oozing extremities stretching and pulsing with an ancient, eldritch power as it approached both the man and the God.

Then the thing spoke. It was a voice unlike anything Rudger had ever before experienced, an inhuman gurgling that was impossible to parse as either male or female, and which in an indescribable way moved _with_ the contours of this dimension – so thoroughly, in fact, that the newly christened Dark Signer was quite certain that it would be utterly mute outside the boundaries of the Underworld. But here, it had both Rudger's and Uru's fullest attentions…and it appeared determined to use that fact to tell a story.

_Long ago, countless millennia before the onset of the Age of Humanity, cataclysm struck the Earth. In the fertile lands that would one day raise the Maya, I descended from My birthplace amongst the void sheathed in a shell of stone, and with one swift strike, brought an end to half the life on this wretched planet. Oh, but the quarry I had come for had not yet emerged…and so I slunk back into the desert sands and overtook the continent that had become My adopted home, biding My time until more intelligent worms could evolve for the purposes of My feasting…_

Rudger's ebon eyes widened at the sheer amount of information he was being handed by this unknowable entity in such a short space of time; three sentences in, and he had already learned what had _truly_ wiped out nearly every Earthborn species some 65 million years ago. Too in awe to voice his full response to this history-making disclosure – and knowing that it wouldn't really be proper to interrupt this "Master" so early into its speech – Rudger merely took a shocked step back and then returned to listening.

_In time, this realm of chaos and death formed around Me, and I grew…ambitious. The first inklings of civilization had begun to make themselves known in My particular corner of the world, and My own power had grown vast – too vast for even _I_ to control. So with this dimension as My womb, I sired an heir…the first of My Jibakushin. I fashioned Him after the mortal beast known as the serpent, and named Him thusly; My firstborn came to be called Asiru Amaru, although the humans of My continent knew Him more commonly as Scar-Red Nova, the Crimson Devil._

_It was My hope that this child would work with Me in perfect symbiosis, directing the application of My boundless energies so that I might be spared the constant burden of conscious thought. But I had erred – I had granted Asiru Amaru too great a portion of My strength, to the point where I could no longer control or constrain Him. So instead, that disloyal wretch turned His attentions to the wider playing field of Earth, and lay siege to it for over a century. Cultures within their barest infancies the world over would later tell stories of the serpent who brought misery and death to all He saw, His rampages ceasing only when He decided to commit the ultimate act of betrayal, and slay His progenitor._

_But I was well-prepared for His perfidy, and so were the forces of the Heavens. While My firstborn had been away, in answer to the primitive humans' prayers the Dragon Star had incarnated into a being of pure holy light: the Akaki Ryu. And so it came to be that the Crimson Dragon and the Crimson Devil clashed, the former winning by a slim margin thanks to the intervention of the Akaki Ryu's first avatar…the original Signer. Wielding the mark of the mighty Dragon, this divinely empowered mortal struck the death-knell that brought a temporary end to My failed first offspring._

_Meanwhile, as My deepest enemies had been occupied with performing My own…"dirty work," as I believe you mortals put it, I had elected to sire a new God: the condor, Wiraqocha Rasca. Learning from My previous mistakes, this creature would never be sufficiently powerful to oppose My rule, but was nonetheless granted more than enough strength to erect a seal around the defeated Guren no Akuma. Ten-thousand years later, that barrier still holds firm, and so it shall be until the end of time._

_Thus invigorated, I then set about using the next five millennia to breed more and more of My terrifying Jibakushin, dividing up the power well upon which each of Them drew with each new birth so that no single one of Them could ever follow in the serpent's treacherous footsteps. But five-thousand years later, in the place that humans would come to call Peru, My old foe – and unintentional pawn – the Crimson Dragon suddenly decided to wipe Us all out…all because of the skyward complaints of a few sniveling mortals._

_In that time, the Akaki Ryu and Its five draconic disciples hunted each and every one of My children down like wild beasts, and for the most part they succeeded; nearly all of Them were in Their respective infancies and thus little more than mean spirits and demons, powerless to defend Themselves against such comparatively experienced adversaries. The followers of the accursed Crimson Light had observed the condor's sealing of my aborted firstborn with hawkeyed intent, and very soon the vast majority of my active brood was consigned to the same fate, locked in immobile stasis beneath the Nazcan sands._

_Within only a few years, a meager seven of My children remained unsealed: the condor Wiraqocha Rasca; you, Uru, my spiderlike thirdborn; the monkey Cusillu; the lizard Ccarayhua; the giant Ccapac Apu; the hummingbird Aslla piscu; and My most recent offspring to mature, the killer whale Chacu Challhua. Of these, only the middle five were fit to challenge Our celestial enemies directly – the condor was required to guard the Underworld and My physical body, and the whale was still heavily weakened from Its transformation from a mere phantom into a true God, leaving It in no condition for the stresses of divine War._

_As such, the battle-lines were ultimately drawn between the spider and the Dragon of Life; between the monkey and the Dragon of Spirit; between the lizard and the Dragon of the Rose; between the giant and the Dragon of the Stars; and between the hummingbird and the Dragon of Righteous Fire. But while We had some notable successes, including the severing of the Fifth Dragon's soul from Its mortal body and Uru's last-moment abduction of the Fourth into the deepest abyss, the Akaki Ryu's intervention ultimately proved an insurmountable obstacle for My forces, and one-by-one…They fell._

_And worse yet, the Crimson Dragon and Its remaining disciples took that opportunity to bring the fight to Us, invading the Underworld directly and challenging _Me_ in a final, climactic duel. By the very slimmest of margins, I of course survived that night…but at a hefty cost. The doors to the Underworld were sealed shut around Me, and My final two offspring were wrenched from My realm and sealed in the mortal deserts with Their fellows, leaving Me alone and powerless for the next five millennia._

"In that case…what has happened to change those circumstances _now_, your Lordship?" Rudger asked hoarsely, finding the strength to speak again for the first time in several minutes. To say that this tale of celestial Warfare had him enraptured would be…quite an understatement.

You_ have, Rudger Goodwin…or rather, your former employer has. Professor Takashi Fudo could never have envisioned the true scope of the power his projects have harnessed – a power that is incomprehensibly primordial, and essential to the preservation of all Thirteen Dimensions of existence. By enacting the release of those limitless energies, you have allowed Myself and My seven greatest progeny to rise again, and to finally revenge Ourselves upon the filthy God who was once destined to be _your_ Master._

"You speak of that birthmark that was once set upon my left arm, correct?" Rudger beseeched the eldritch mass. "Please, oh ancient God of darkness – I _need_ to know more. About these marks…and about _my_ role in all of these affairs."

_Very well. You see, long before the Age of the Jibakushin – or indeed, before I even _arrived_ upon this paltry planet – I was locked in an eternal struggle with the entity of the Dragon Star. Oh, it came in many forms over the passing eons, with the Akaki Ryu simply being Its most recent favorite…but always It remained a thorn in My side, dedicated solely to preventing Me from feasting on the fear and despair of the worlds I encountered._

_But on Earth…oh yes, on Earth, it was different. Here, I had a head-start of countless millennia over that self-righteous deity, and I have explained precisely how I foolishly squandered most of _that_ advantage. Even still, however, the scales would not have been tipped fully in the Crimson Dragon's favor had It not made the unprecedented decision to sequester some of Its power in a mortal "hero," an ancient Incan whose name has been lost to the winds of history. He became the first Signer, a human avatar who could harness his God's energies and battle by Its side…and as unorthodox as this stratagem was, there is no doubt that it was the deciding factor in bringing defeat to My perfidious firstborn._

_But while I and My remaining offspring have rested in silence in the centuries following Our sealing, other forces of chaos and malice have continued to act in Our stead. In combating their ascendance, the Akaki Ryu decided to continue the lineage of the first Signer, reincarnating his power into each passing generation and guiding each successive avatar in defending this world. Eventually, however, the Dragon realized that one emissary hosting _all_ of Its donated power was…inefficient, and divided up the first Signer's original birthmark into five. Or was it in fact six? Sometimes I misremember the finer details, having been imprisoned in the depths of Hell at the time…but regardless, that is really no matter._

_In any event, it was one of _these_ marks that you were "blessed" with from birth, Rudger Goodwin; the emblem of the Dragon's head, marking your destiny as leader of the coming generation of impudent Signers. But unique amongst your frustratingly passive race, you made the choice to turn your back on that pathetic legacy…a choice that has earned Uru's eternal respect. It is for that reason that My thirdborn requested a bond with your departed soul, and why you stand here now, fortunate enough to parlay directly with the once and future Lord of this wretched planet._

"There are…no words to describe the honor I feel in your presence," Rudger extolled, his voice quivering with raw emotion. "Tell me what you wish of me, and it shall be so. Allow me to spread your word, and your _will_, across this Earth…and the entire stretch of my newly acquired immortality shall be dedicated to that task."

_As expected, your zeal for Our cause is…refreshing. And in that case, Rudger Goodwin, I have three great tasks for you to perform over the new few decades, once I return your walking corpse to the mortal plane. Do you accept these burdens?_

"Anything, my Lord…_anything_," Rudger pronounced obsequiously.

_Very good…My emissary. Now, your first task shall be by far the most important, and it is toward this which I expect for you to devote the majority of your energies – the matter of recruitment. For you see, as the moment of Our Second Coming draws nearer, the remainder of My sentient children shall require hosts as well…and those hosts shall require a leader. Rudger Goodwin, you have become the first mortal to be awakened to true enlightenment, but you shall not be the last; gather the rest of My Dark Signers as they each are reborn in turn, and guide them toward the fulfillment of their respective vendettas._

_But seven Dark Signers will not be enough to bring a final end to the forces of the Crimson Light…nay, you must also commence the gathering of an army. To that end, I am infusing the mark of Uru upon your forearm with the power of Command; each of My offspring's eight appendages now represents a smaller arachnid you can use to enthrall the minds of weaker humans. Employ this power well, and ensure that by the time the remaining Signers of your Age have all awoken and gathered together, your forces will have become insurmountable._

_And that brings Us to your second task, Rudger Goodwin: arranging the circumstances of those Signers' inevitable advent so that it might ultimately prove to work to _Our_ advantage. While I cannot identify any of them by name so long as I am sequestered in this Hellish prison, I am certain that at least two of your former "compatriots" have already been brought into the mortal world, with yet more to come in the near future. With any luck, one or more of them will rise to prominence before realizing Our presence, and I want you prepared to test their strength when that time comes. All Our work shall be for naught if the Akaki Ryu's sycophants fail to offer up an adequate challenge._

"Err…if I might be so bold, my Lord, _why_ is that so?" Rudger asked, his brow furrowed in bewilderment. "Would it not be more sagacious to kill the Signers as quick as possible, before they can pose any legitimate threat to our mission?"

_That…brings Us to your final task, Rudger Goodwin. Mystical forces are aligning alongside the marvelous energies generated by your mortal "science" even as we speak, and I have determined that they will reach their peak at a very specific hour, exactly eighteen years in Earth's future. At that moment, should all requisite factors fall perfectly into place, the door to the Underworld will open briefly for the first time in five millennia, and I shall _finally_ be free to wreak my vengeance upon this dismal planet._

"And one of those 'factors' is that the Signers need to try and stop us…is that correct?" Rudger ascertained shrewdly.

_Indeed. The unwritten scriptures are quite explicit; the Signers must be afforded a fighting chance at stopping the ritual, or the gathering magicks shall ultimately prove worthless. As I understand it, Our unwitting benefactor Takashi Fudo has installed towers to act as emergency switches for the enormous pool of the Hikari no Yami that your actions so generously left behind…and as that exposed crevice between the worlds is the very gateway I intend to use for My escape, I believe that informing the Signers of those machines should suffice in fulfilling the conditions of the prophecy._

_If you allocate your resources well enough, however, I very much doubt that the Signer whelps shall prove able to seal every Control Tower before their…"deadline" passes. In the end, all that truly matters is that they fail at _that_ particular juncture – any other complications can be dealt with accordingly._

_So in summary, the first of My immortal envoys, I intend for you to spend the next eighteen years of your second life wandering about the shadows of the world, gathering allies and followers and accumulating all that is necessary to achieve your objectives. And when your opposite numbers _do_ make their first appearances, you shall allow them nothing more-or-less than a single sporting chance…and crush them under your heel the moment that they fail to capitalize on it. And once those events have come to pass, Rudger Goodwin, _I_ shall make My triumphant return to the Earthly plane, and all the world shall tremble as My children and I plunge it into an eternal Hellscape – a nightmare from which there is no awakening!_

"I shall not disappoint you, my Lord! Mark my words, I shall _not!_" Rudger shouted, falling to his knees as the image of this ancient realm of evil began to rapidly dissipate, the Underworld's Master descending back into the caliginous depths as the Jibakushin Uru shot a massive strand of silk webbing at its prostrated avatar and pulled him back into the physical realm. For a brief few seconds that seemed like a lifetime, Rudger's world was nothing more than a stream of blurred colors and the overwhelming screams of the damned…and then he was standing in his ruined laboratory once more, looking straight over the enormous lake of shimmering energy that now stood in place of the tile floors.

"How was that experience, My host?" Uru questioned, now scurrying up the walls of the chamber so as to get a better vantage point on what were currently the duo's only earthbound holdings. "For you to have met the true Master of this world and maintained your base sanity is not an unimpressive feat, Rudger Goodwin."

"It was most certainly…eye-opening, if nothing else," said Rudger, somewhat hollowly; the power of speech was only just returning to him, so staggering had the whole affair been to his worldview and to his mind in general. "To have the opportunity to meet an entity so much more ancient than mankind itself, one that has seen more worlds and realities than I even _dreamt_ were in existence…I am truly unworthy. I was nothing but a simple researcher before today, a pathetic member of an even more pathetic species; I simply _cannot_ understand why this…King of the Underworld would choose _me_ to exact its blessed agenda…"

"'_King_ of the Underworld'? An…interesting designation for Our Lord, to be sure," the spider God remarked. "Beings such as It have always seemed above the constraints of such paltry things as names; _Our_ titles were bestowed upon Us by the humans of old, lingering remnants of a bygone civilization that knew and feared Our might. But of course, I digress…

"The important thing to note, My host, is that _I_ was the one who chose you for this task…and I would not have done so were I not absolutely _certain_ of your merit," Uru continued, tilting its head downward in what might have been a God's attempt at sympathy. "You possess an uncommon strength of will for a mortal; the sort of iron resolve that cannot be quantified, but which is nonetheless an essential asset for any mission undertaken on such a monumental scale. To be sure, My fellows were…apprehensive about My decision to bond with a former Signer, but They shall soon see – this is a brave new world which We seek to conquer, and Their antiquated ways of thinking no longer have a place here. It is time for the Earthbound Gods to carve out a fresh path across this wretched planet…and you, Rudger Goodwin, are just the human to lead Us there."

"I…thank you for your confidence, my Lord," Rudger responded graciously. "Rest assured that I shall not squander it."

"I should think not. Now set forth, My host…and begin to walk the road that marks the end of your world!" the spider concluded sonorously, and without another word the Jibakushin was once more slinking into Rudger's new birthmark, which glowed bright as the voice of the scarlet arachnid returned to a whisper in the corner of its avatar's mind.

"Very well, Earthbound God Uru…I suppose that it _is_ time for us to get to work," Rudger Goodwin muttered, both to himself and to the entity that now took up residence right beside his own tarnished soul, before setting off amongst the remains of the research facility and beginning to plan roughly how he might go about converting it into a proper base of operations.

[-]

The next few years proceeded without much incident, God and avatar learning from each other as their minds continued to meld closer and closer toward perfect unity. Uru, it transpired, knew little-to-nothing about how humankind had advanced since the sealing of its brethren, and was particularly interested in learning of the "mortal magic" of science; conversely, Rudger was a readily admitted neophyte when it came to the mystic arts, and spent every waking moment _not_ dedicated to building up their store of resources getting in touch with the heritage entailed in his newly acquired status.

Day-and-night (sleep being required only when Uru itself needed to conserve energy, which happened perhaps once every two weeks or so at most), Rudger tore through tome after tome of arcane literature, salvaged from decrepit ruins or dusty museums the world over upon the advisement of his God. Fortunately, the first trick that the spider had saw fit to teach him had been a teleportation spell generated by his birthmark, making such acts of petty thievery veritable child's play.

In any event, however, with his body now properly attuned Rudger was slowly but surely gaining mastery over a variety of supernatural abilities he would have considered physically impossible just a few years prior, from invisibility to the projection of dark energy to clairvoyant visions of the worlds that lay beyond this one.

This last technique was particularly vital, as fulfilling the King's commands required identifying and systematically recruiting each of his destined fellows, whensoever they were fated to experience their respective rebirthings. It was something of a lonely existence, to be sure…but Uru remained by his side (or rather more often, _inside_ his very psyche) every step of the way, and moreover the point where he would be joined by those enlightened few drew nearer with every passing sunset.

He could see them all now – a university student searching through page after page of forbidden lore in a desperate bid to resurrect a long-lost companion; the scion of a small Peruvian tribe returning to his village to find it utterly eradicated, victims of the recently released Jibakushin's ravenous hunger; an up-and-coming child model sharing a moment of purest joy with her beloved baby brother; a young boy wandering around the slums that existed outside this facility, nursing his bloody wounds and weeping in abject despair once he was certain no one else could see him; and an even tinier girl toddling about the Japanese countryside, her dark-green hair swaying in the breeze as she took in the bright day with an expression of naïve wonder.

But while these brief flashes of mortal men, women, and children would doubtless take quite some time to coalesce into the unstoppable legion Rudger knew they were capable of someday becoming, the Dark Signer was hardly concerned.

After all, if there was one thing that a dead man was sure to have plenty of…it was patience.


	2. Part II: Demak Kera

**I Am Become Death – Demak Kera**

_Disclaimer: In case you haven't figured it out yet, I don't own Yu-Gi-Oh! 5D's. All Yu-Gi-Oh!-related characters, settings, etc. are the intellectual property of Kazuki Takahashi._

[-]

_The Lord said:_

"_Doom am I, full-ripe, dealing death to the worlds, engaged in devouring mankind. Even without your slaying them not one of the warriors, ranged for battle against thee, shall survive."_

– **The Bhagavad-Gita, 11:32**

[-]

One more book…just _one_ more book…

The sight of graduate student Demak Kera tearing through yet another set of musty tomes was hardly an unfamiliar one to the staff of the Nagoya University library, but not a single one of them had the remotest idea of _why_ he spent every waking moment of his free time slouched over a desk and reading like a madman. Were they pressed, they would probably have all assumed that Demak was simply an uncommonly diligent student…and his grades would have corroborated that assumption in full.

But no…in truth, very little of the research that kept Demak working far past midnight on a near-nightly basis had anything whatsoever to do with his pursuit of a business degree.

Those searching for the _real_ reason for Demak's studiousness would have needed to look no further than the stainless steel safe he kept locked in the corner of his one-room apartment. Within the impregnable box, however, was not anything typical; no gold or jewels or family heirlooms rested inside its walls. Rather, there was naught but a single Duel Monsters card upon a display cushion, sealed securely within a plate of glass so as to preserve it from any further damage.

The descriptor "further" was required because even a cursory glance at the gleaming piece of white cardboard would yield the knowledge that it had been ripped in two at some point in its lifetime, mended lovingly but ineptly with masking tape before coming to rest at its present home.

And within that home the card – depicting an intricately robed simian holding aloft a staff of power – sat, day-after-day, with its only time spent free from the triple-locked safe being a weekly ritual in which Demak would bring it to his lips and whisper, "I'm sorry, Zeman. But I _will_ find a way to bring you back to me. I will _not_ allow us to stay separated much longer, old friend…and that's a promise."

[-]

The intertwining stories of Demak Kera and the Monkey Mage Zeman were long and, at the apex of their shared destiny, rather tragic. The second child of a Japanese seamstress and an Islamic Indonesian baker, Demak had been brought up in a mildly impoverished household; food and other essentials, at least, were generally not a problem, though for this to continue being so it was often necessary for his father to work two jobs (or even _three_, during the years when his older sister was off at college). But luxuries of any sort were simply out of the question – birthday presents would rarely if ever be anything more expensive than a candy bar or two. Still, it was thought that Demak's coming-of-age needed to be celebrated with a _bit_ more pomp-and-circumstance than usual, and so a few weeks of overtime allowed the young boy to receive five packs of the world's biggest craze, Duel Monsters cards, upon turning thirteen.

None of the packs ended up yielding anything particularly rare or valuable, but Demak hadn't cared in the least; so far as he was concerned, those first forty-five cards had been the greatest treasures he could ever ask for. And despite their comparatively low quality, he was _damn_ good at using them…his skills at wielding Trap Cards (or else bluffing his opponents out should he fail to draw one) soon became legendary on the schoolyard, enough so that a KaibaCorp representative was sent to extend him a full scholarship to Seto Kaiba's Duel Academia two years later.

And so it came to pass that, in the fall of 2006, Demak Kera became a proud member of the Ra Yellow dormitory, surrounded completely and totally by the one activity he had ever truly loved. That had been a…unique school year, to put it mildly – it had been rather hard to miss the entire school being transported into some strange desert or its students systematically transforming into duel-crazed zombies, after all.

After blacking out against the shambling onslaught, however, his memories of that period were distinctly hazy; several of his dorm-mates swore that he had ultimately joined their legions and dueled in an obsessive stupor for hours on-end, but whether that was true or not the whole matter had soon enough been drawn to a close thanks to the interference of Judai Yuki, the Academia's perennial golden boy. And all things considered, if he and the rest of the student body were quite willing to put that sordid affair behind them, Demak certainly wasn't going to argue.

But it was the very nature of Academia Island that no status quo could ever persist in extended perpetuity; if what his older peers were saying was true, the class immediately preceding his had nearly been completely brainwashed by some weird, light-obsessed cult, and the one before _that_ had been assaulted by a trio of demons summoned by the school chairman. So comparatively speaking, it came as little surprise when, a few months after their return to the "normal" world, a slew of armored thugs had descended upon the student body and began kidnapping them into a bizarre alternate dimension…Demak included.

That brief period spent in the World of Darkness had been Demak's first true taste of the primordial forces that existed just outside the petty bounds of his home Universe, though of course he hadn't fully realized it at the time. An illusory eternity had flown by in that unending void, the Ra Yellow freshman's total isolation broken only by the occasional, bloodcurdling scream from one of his fellow prisoners. But otherwise, Demak Kera was left alone to wallow in the totality of his own despair, plagued by visions of failing utterly at a dueling career, squandering his family's hopes and aspirations, and returning home in disgrace.

And yet – and Demak was almost certain, despite never having discussed that horrific experience with anyone else, that this sensation had been wholly unique unto him – at a certain point, the effect had simply seemed to "wear off." Others remained in torment, but he merely…floated on, staring into the endless blackness and feeling rather closer to _bored_ than anything else. The advantage to this state of existence was that Demak could occasionally observe glimpses of the outside world, and in this way he managed to see a good portion of Judai Yuki's duel with the master of this Hellish realm, a goat-skeleton-demon-thing known simply as "Darkness."

Eventually, this duel had resulted in Darkness' destruction and the freedom of all its myriad captives, and like the rest of Duel Academia's fundamental strangeness an unspoken agreement amongst the students and faculty was forged that no one was going to speak of the experience again. But Demak never forgot the cold and yet, oddly, almost comforting feel of the abyssal shadows against his skin, nor the vague sensation that something _else_ had been…watching him from across that distant void.

The true reasons for how his body had reacted to his first taste of the Universe's infinite darkness would have to wait, however…for while his sophomore year at the Duel Academia had been rather less eventful from a "supernatural" perspective, it had nevertheless constituted the starkest turning point in Demak Kera's twenty-nine years of life.

Duel Monsters creator Pegasus J. Crawford had visited the Island at the beginning of that term, wizened and requiring of a cane despite his relative youth. None in the media had ever been quite able to explain the eccentric billionaire's sudden deterioration of health in the years leading up to his death, but if anything this unusually early onset of agedness had merely _fueled_ his drive to continue interacting with his constantly evolving masterwork.

"Good evening, boys and girls!" Demak remembered him calling out jovially, either oblivious or else simply unconcerned that he was delivering his speech just before noon. "I'm sure that quite a few of you are wondering why I asked dear Kaiba-boy for a chance to speak with the rising stars of our next generation's dueling world. Well, the truth is, I've sometimes felt as if the game of Duel Monsters has been…stagnating for the last decade or so. Oh, we've had a _few_ innovators in recent years, from the cool and calculating Edo-boy to your boldest and brashest of new graduates, the illustrious Judai-boy…but the game itself, if you'll forgive me for saying so, seems to be in a bit of a rut in terms of strategy.

"As such," Pegasus had went on, "I think that I've finally managed to come up with a fresh new invention – one that should turn the realm of Duel Monsters on its head more thoroughly than anything since Battle City! And so, without further ado, I present to you all…"

And with a flourish, the silver-haired gentleman had torn a silk cloth from a trio of display cases, revealing three freshly minted Monster Cards resplendent with dazzling white borders. The whole of Duel Academia, students and staff alike, had been rendered agape by the strangely hued cards, and based on the satisfied expression that had flitted across Pegasus' face this had been precisely the reaction he'd been going for. "Yes, that's right everyone…say hello to the world's first _Synchro_ Monsters!" he had triumphantly exclaimed, motioning for a few of his Industrial Illusions employees to pick up the cases and hold them high. "These wonderful creatures come into play via a new game mechanic I've dubbed 'Tuning,' and I am certain that once you all have your hands on their incredible power, they will quite literally _revolutionize_ the way this game is played!"

"And that is why, students, Mister Crawford has asked me to put together something of a…tournament for you all this week," Principal Samejima had said as he stepped forward. "Everyone from Osiris freshmen to Obelisk seniors will be required to compete in single-elimination matches, and the three students who place highest will receive the cards you see here…the very first of their kind ever printed. Third place will win you _The Force of Earth, Gaia Knight_; the runner-up will get their hands upon _Monkey Mage Zeman_; and the lucky duelist who wins the whole thing will become the proud owner of the mighty _Gigantech Fighter_! So if there are no further questions, you can all start heading over to Tome-san to obtain your first-round pairings…err, unless you have something else to say, Mister Crawford?"

"Oh, just one last little thing, Principal…I wouldn't want to keep all these precocious youngsters waiting _too_ much longer for their fun and their prizes," Pegasus had answered, before his enthusiastic, almost boyish grin turned suddenly somber. "However, before I can allow these cards out into the world, I feel that I must share something of a…warning as well."

Clearing his throat and fingering the strands of silvery hair that always seemed to lie matted across his left eye, the CEO had stated, "It has always been clear to me, from the moment I released the very first _Magic & Wizards_ packs a decade ago, that my cards have something of a life of their own…a 'heart,' if you will. Used with the proper care and respect, this 'heart' can form an unshakeable bond between the player and the monster, a bond that can endure even through the severest of adversity. But should such pure emotions be lacking in the user…well, let's just say that the results I've seen firsthand have never been pretty.

"I tell you all this, ladies and gentlemen, because as these Synchro Monsters represent the newest evolution in this wonderful game of ours, so too do they represent an evolution for those very same bonds," Pegasus had continued. "For over a year I have been hard at work, trying to get at the heart of what truly defines the spirit of Duel Monsters, but in doing so I feel I have greatly raised the stakes that the dueling world must face in the coming days. The pathways these cards forge between the outside world and the human soul are pure, and so it is imperative that those of you who gain access to their startling power clear your minds of all but the most positive thoughts and emotions. I offer these cards to _you_, first, because it is only a person of open-minded youth whom I can truly trust to heed this counsel. Good luck to you all…and remember well these words."

"Erm…indeed! Now…let's give Mister Crawford a good round of applause for donating his valuable time to us and, uh, begin this tournament posthaste!" Samejima had added, somewhat awkwardly; the unexpected graveness in the American businessman's demeanor had clearly caught him rather off-guard, as it had for virtually everyone else present. Demak in particular distinctly remembered his initial confusion at the notion that a card could represent anything more complicated than its financial or strategic value…but at least he had _listened_ to the weighty words of warning, which was more than could be said for the student who had been sitting directly to his right.

Takasu Armstrong had been an Obelisk Blue senior at the time, and in Demak's estimation, an absolute lout. Boorish, crass, and obnoxious even at the best of times, Takasu had been snoring loudly throughout Pegasus' entire speech, and it had taken all of the Ra Yellow's self-control to prevent himself from smashing the fat slob's enormous nose in. As he understood it now, the man had grown up to become a security guard at a Domino City prison via some family connections…which, he figured, was an appropriate enough career path for the inane thug. He and the criminal scum housed there deserved each other.

Of course, Demak's rather piss-poor opinion of the man had very little to do with that particular incident, though he supposed that was where the whole mess had really started: with the tournament whose announcement Takasu had slept through. But nevertheless, the brute had entered later that day, as had Demak and the rest of Duel Academia's student body…and by the following sunrise, the Island was in full-swing with the fervor that came only with dueling, each and every teenager present vying for a chance to attain one of those inaugural Synchro Monsters.

[-]

There had been some close calls – many, in fact – but in the end, though he truly had absolutely no idea how he'd pulled it off, Demak Kera had ended up in the final match of the tournament. By far, his most difficult opponent up to that point had been Rei Saotome, the sole female in the Osiris Red dorm and the person generally considered to be the closest thing to a successor Judai Yuki still had on the Island.

If nothing else, he felt rather fortunate that she had knocked out the only other "disciple" of the recent Osiris graduate participating in the tournament, Ra senior "Tyranno" Kenzan, in the quarter-finals; something about mere _contact_ with Judai seemed to have endowed pretty much all his friends with dueling skills far beyond the general par, and Demak was dead certain that facing _both_ champions in succession would have resulted in his quick and ignominious defeat. As it was, he had slipped through to the finals by a mere hair's breadth, snatching the slimmest of victories at the last moment thanks to a particularly lucky draw. Thus, he hadn't been feeling especially confident in his prospects as he nervously shuffled back onto the dueling field, the cheers of the entire Osiris and Ra dorms – as well as over half of Obelisk – following him as he did…at least, until he had managed to catch a glimpse of his opponent.

Given the sheer number of participants, the tournament had wound up getting divided into two brackets, with one half of the student body dueling for a round and the other observing, until it came time to switch off. Consequently, Demak had managed to catch the highlights of most of Takasu Armstrong's duels, and what he had seen had hardly impressed him; the portly young man had displayed the tendency to pour all of his resources into massive, game-breaking plays at every opportunity, meaning that Demak's Trap-heavy stratagems were the perfect antidote to his reckless aggression.

_Dimensional Prison_; _Hell's Pitfall_; _Dark Bribe_; even the rarest card in his entire deck, _Warning of God_…each and every Trap he'd set up, Takasu had walked straight into. Demak might have felt almost sorry for the loudmouthed fool had he been a good sport about it, but nothing could be farther from the truth; as the cards on his field and in his hand dwindled to nil, the older student had become almost incoherent with rage, shouting vulgar insults about Demak's mother and ethnic background while at the same time boasting about how he would crush him into dust in mere moments.

"This is the end, you fucking little cocksucker!" Takasu had shouted, extending both his middle fingers and shaking them lewdly. "I'm gonna use _Jar of Avarice_ to shuffle five monsters back into my deck, and then draw two extra cards! How do ya like that, ya pussy-ass bitch?"

"It seems just fine to me," Demak had responded, mock-yawning into his hand as he surreptitiously fingered his face-down _Magic Cylinder_. "Is that it?"

"Not even close!" the smug brute had shot back. "Now I'm gonna Summon out _Chainsaw Insect_, and equip it with two copies of _Demon's Axe!_ Let's see you block _this_ one, you stupid little shit…Bisecting Buzzsaw!"

That had been it – the final juncture. Takasu had had nothing left on his field other than that single, powered-up insect, and the Trap that would have turned every single ATK point it possessed back on its master had been but a finger-press away from being sprung. Pushing that button on his Duel Disk would have meant Takasu Armstrong's humiliating and _oh_ so well-deserved defeat, as well as the ability to claim the incredibly powerful _Gigantech Fighter_ as his own. Victory had literally been _inches_ away…

And yet, for a reason that he hadn't quite been able to explain to himself at the time, Demak had permitted the attack to strike him down. It was a strange feeling that had compelled him to do it, but an inexplicably intense one; all he could say was that, while happening to glance in the direction of the display cases that held the three Synchro Monsters, he had come to the sudden realization that he _needed_ the second-place prize. It had almost been as if the _Monkey Mage Zeman_ was…calling to him, and while he had had absolutely no idea _why_ this was the case, he had seen enough in the previous schoolyear to know that such strong instincts were not to be refused.

Of course, the answer to _that_ particular mystery would not have to wait long to come to the surface.

[-]

_Are you…a human?_

Initially, Demak had had no idea whatsoever where that voice had come from, and given that he had been alone in his dormroom at the time (desirous of a few moments' solitude in order to examine his new "acquisition" more thoroughly), that fact had both perplexed and somewhat disturbed him. Apparently indifferent to Demak's stunned silence, however, the voice – a low, rumbling tone that sounded almost bestial – had continued on with its one-sided discourse.

_I've been waiting for a certain human to come across me for so long…so very _long. _Are…are you he? Are you…my partner?_

"Y…your partner?" Demak had whispered, his fingers shaking as he had slowly come to the realization of exactly _where_ the deep but muted tones were coming from. Sure, Mister Pegasus _had_ said all that weird stuff about cards having "hearts" or whatever…but he hadn't mentioned anything about apparently normal pieces of cardboard up-and-deciding to talk by themselves! 

_Yes…I can feel it now. You've been touched by the energies of one of our dimensions, just like so many others on this enchanted isle…but you're different. You're…like me…_

"W…Whadaya mean by that?" the young student had stammered, still scarcely believing what was happening and yet unable to avert his attention for even a second. "Err, mister…'Zeman,' is it?"

_Indeed, my name is Zeman, the Monkey Mage…but I see now that I shall need to start from the beginning. Are you willing to hear my story, young human?_

"I…I guess so," Demak had answered, unsure of what else to say.

_This world you reside in – the dimension that contains within it the planet you call "Earth" – is but one of several; as I understand it, very few of your species seem to be aware of even _this_ basic of truths. Nevertheless, your dimension is generally agreed to be the first one, and is the well from which all other life across every corner of our Universe has sprung. Still…twelve more dimensions have come about since that time immemorial, housing all manners of creatures both great and small. Your kind has come to collectively call us "Duel Spirits."_

"Are you a…'Duel Spirit' too, then?" Demak had asked nervously.

_That is most certainly so, young human – I hail from the Seventh Dimension, a land of incomprehensibly immense greenery known as the Ancient Forest. I act as court mage to the ruler of the town of Schwank, the magnanimous Ancient Fairy Dragon…but this is the first time my magicks have been anywhere near strong enough to breach the dimensional void. There is truly but one explanation for this phenomenon: you and I are destined to act as partners. Perhaps, we always have been…_

"Look…could you, uh, explain a little bit more about this 'partner' business?" Demak had interjected, holding up the card closer to the light and observing an almost imperceptible glow come alight in its painted eyes each time its ambient voice spoke. "You seem like a real nice guy, I guess…y'know, for a talking _card_…but I still really just don't get _any_ of this."

_Very well, then. I have noticed, in the course of my courtly duties, that some of my brood have begun to…fade from the forests in recent times. Researching these peculiar occurrences further, I have gradually come to realize the profound connection we spirits feel to your kind's mythology and folklore…most recently expressed through the game you call "Duel Monsters."_

_Yes, this "Duel Monsters" was a most…enlightening discovery, if I may say so myself. While I had seen shades of we spirits in so very many of your human cultures, glimpsed briefly from beyond the veil via the most arcane of magicks, never before had I witnessed such _perfect_ representations of everything from the tiniest Dancing Elf to the legendary Blue-Eyes White Dragon. I knew, immediately, that the human who brought this game to fruition – the Pegasus, I believe he calls himself – must possess an unbelievably intimate link to the other worlds that encompass the grander Universe, albeit perhaps subconsciously._

_And this was, I soon realized, the _true_ reason for all the disappearances from our realms; every card produced by the Pegasus or his associates would invariably provide a pathway by which the corresponding spirit could enter your dimension, and bond with those human beings that wielded their physical manifestations in battle. Most of your kind seem to be utterly unaware of our presence…but a few, like you, hold the innate power to see and hear us for what we really are. As such, a handful of spirits that have stepped forth into your dimension have voluntarily chosen to stay, and to their beloved human companions they have come to be called "Spirit Partners."_

"So that means…that you think _I_ am your fated partner?" Demak had repeated, his eyes blinking rapidly in bewilderment. "That I gave up my rightful victory a couple hours ago because _we_ are meant to be…err, companions, did you say?"

_I do not think it; I _know_ it. I am certain of so very little about you, young human – I have failed to even catch your mortal name – and yet I could sense, from the very moment that my cardboard vessel was forged and I was able to cross your world's threshold, that you were possessed of the rare gift required to observe reality for all that it truly is. Witness, now…am I not plain to you, in a way that eludes virtually all of your peers?_

And indeed, at the sound of these words Zeman had no longer been merely an intricate arrangement of printed ink, but rather a genuine, towering ape brandishing a mystical staff and smiling warmly at the young student. Of course, it was true that the creature had not been _quite_ as corporeal as Demak himself, resembling more closely the semi-transparency of a spectral ghost…but regardless, this had been impossible to pass off as anything less than definitive proof of all he had just been told. _How_ he had known this with such certainty, Demak hadn't been able to say, but the fact remained that he did.

"I hope that this shall suffice for your needs, young human," the Monkey Mage Zeman had bellowed, inclining his head respectfully. Though he was still stunned silent, Demak had hastened to return the gesture.

"This is…oh God, this is…_wow_…" the Ra Yellow had eventually blathered, sizing up the spirit from head-to-toe and stretching out an experimental hand forward, though as he had been half-expecting, his fingers went straight through the ape's rather larger ones. "Err…and about that 'mortal name' business…you can just call me 'Demak,' if you want. Demak Kera."

"Demak Kera of the First Dimension…yes, I would say that your chosen appellation carries with it quite a broad sense of majesty," Zeman had responded approvingly. "I think that this may well be the start of, as I believe you humans term it, a beautiful friendship."

"Yeah…yeah, I guess…" Demak had muttered, before swallowing audibly and following-up with, "So umm, Zeman…what exactly do Spirit Partners _do?_"

"I believe that that is something we shall have to answer for ourselves," Zeman had replied, doing his best to approximate a comforting gesture without the ability to physically touch his human counterpart. "So long as our connection exists, I shall remain here, if for no other reason than that I find your world positively _fascinating_…and as such, I place myself completely at your disposal. And so, in reaction to your query, I should instead like to ask: what would _you_ like for us to do, Demak?"

[-]

That had, perhaps, been the moment when Demak Kera's initial ambivalence (to put it mildly) gave way to an almost childlike giddiness, one that only strengthened as the next few weeks flew by. Demak had never exactly had a whole lot of friends in his youth – his near-poverty and a general neighborhood culture of xenophobia directed against his father had combined to ensure that very few other kids had any interest in even getting _near_ him – so having a constant companion whose very presence was known _solely_ to him had been incredibly euphoric.

And the Monkey Mage Zeman, as it turned out, had been an ideal partner in virtually every manner by which such a thing could be measured. Sage and experienced, the spirit had been able to draw on his nigh-encyclopedic knowledge of his fellow monsters in order to assist Demak on the battlefield, not to mention coming to the field himself whenever his partner could assemble the requisite materials. Against opponents that were, naturally, incapable of Summoning anything to match Zeman's level of adaptability and sheer power, this had resulted in a rather protracted string of victories on the sophomore's part. By the time a month or so had passed in this manner, so far as Demak was concerned…he was untouchable.

Unfortunately, he was also arrogant. Zeman had proven to be an unfailingly supportive friend in both the best and the worst of times, but the side-effect of this two-part camaraderie was the alarmingly rapid rate at which it inflated Demak's ego. Knowing that the very Universe itself had deemed him "special" enough to see, hear, and wield the Monkey Mage was an overwhelmingly empowering feeling, especially for someone of Demak's fairly unremarkable upbringing, and it was the overconfidence that knowledge brought that had convinced the young man to challenge Takasu Armstrong to a rematch.

"You won because I _let_ you win, you fat, disgusting slob," he remembered saying, drawing himself up his fullest height as Zeman, invisible to everyone else, did the same to his left. "Meet me at the Ra Yellow dueling field in two hours and I'll prove it to you."

Demak also remembered well the older boy's reaction, a series of wild guffaws that had culminated in a boisterous, "Sure fuckhead, why not? But you're gonna have to make it worth my while, if ya know what I'm sayin'."

"I have no _idea_ what you are saying, and I don't care. Whatever ridiculous conditions you place on our duel, I have no problem with them," Demak had boasted.

"Then you won't mind adding in a little…wager, eh?" Takasu had bellowed back, sneering haughtily. "My terms are simple, piss-stain – one Synchro Monster bet against another. The winner walks out of here with both, and the loser gets tossed out on his unworthy ass."

Getting right up in the bully's face, Demak had considered this proposition for a split-second before snarling, "You don't deserve to have that wonderful monster anyway; you're just a moronic pig who can't even see his cards for what they really are. That _Gigantech Fighter _deserves a master who will understand and honor his magnificence. So, I guess what I'm saying is…you're _on_."

[-]

Zeman had tried several times to dissuade Demak from this path in the following hours, but to no avail; the young man had never before had a reason to indulge in the accumulation of pride, and there was little doubt that the sensation was quite intoxicating. Being forced to pretend that someone as uncouth and incompetent as Takasu Armstrong was his better had wounded his duelist's spirit more than we would've ever been willing to admit, and with Zeman at his side (in all respects), any prospective scenarios other than a swift and glorious victory never even crossed his mind.

…So when _Gigantech Fighter_ plunged a massive fist through the holographic representation of his Duel Spirit and his Life Points drained to zero a few hours later, Demak hadn't exactly been well-prepared to deal with the outcome.

"I…I don't get it…" he recalled stammering, sinking to his knees as all the cards in his hand and field fluttered to the ground, _Monkey Mage Zeman_ included.

"What's there to get?" Takasu had snorted in return, kicking Demak in the gut and spitting in his face for good measure. "Your cards are fucking weak, and so are you. You aren't worthy of the power of a Synchro Monster." Then, as if to emphasize just how little regard he extended toward the cards and the duelist in question, the thug had torn out some of his own nosehairs and blew them across Demak's trembling form, before jutting out his palm in expectation for his end of the wager.

Demak, of course, had been acutely aware that he would be losing quite a bit more than a rare and powerful ace card at this point, but there was no use protesting; he had brought this misery upon himself, after all, through his arrogance and his hubris. And so, crying openly and not caring that the various other students who had come to observe their climactic rematch were staring, Demak had reluctantly handed over his most precious possession – his only friend – to the greedy Obelisk, the faint sound of Zeman's screams of remonstration echoing in his ears.

"Yeah, I gotta say, this thing is _damn_ pretty," Takasu had snickered in smug revelry, waving it tauntingly in the face of its former owner. "Not as strong as _Fighter_, though. In fact…I'm not even sure that I _need_ another one of these guys now. I kicked your pussy-ass just fine with only one Synchro, didn't I?"

"I…I don't care if you use it in duels or not…" Demak had found himself quietly pleading. "Just…please take good care of it…of _him_. Please…"

"It really means _that_ much to you, does it?" Takasu had asked, raising an eyebrow at the quivering Demak, who meekly nodded. "Well, then I guess that changes some things…"

And then, before Demak could really register what the older student had said, Takasu Armstrong had ripped the _Monkey Mage Zeman_ clean in two.

For Demak Kera, all time had stopped in that instant. All sights, all sounds – _everything_ – had faded into an indistinct blur, the torn pieces seeming to fall at his feet in heart-wrenchingly slow motion as Takasu's boisterous mirth sounded loud and far across the dueling hall. Soon enough various spectators had begun shouting, though Demak heard only snatches; the gist seemed to be that they were outraged that Takasu would so blithely destroy one of the rarest cards in existence, as well as a personal gift from Pegasus himself.

From the older student's expression, he had evidently been too caught-up in his sadism to think that particular notion completely through…but it mattered not. As Takasu grunted irritably and fled through the opposite doorway, hollers of scorn and derision following close behind him, Demak had merely bowed his head and wept.

[-]

The next few weeks had been spent in the deepest clutches of despondency – a depression far greater than Demak would ever have considered himself capable. Sometimes he cried, but most of the time he simply laid back on his bed and stared up silently at the painted yellow ceiling, feeling a paralyzing numbness that defied description.

He hadn't truly known what he'd had until he'd lost it…that much was crystal-clear. It had been _far_ more severe than merely losing his freshly acquired position of "big man on campus," as it were; it wasn't like if Seto Kaiba were to lose his famed _Blue-Eyes White Dragons_, which were rare and powerful but surely possessed no deeper connection than that to their owner's heart. No, this had been nothing less than the horrific and irrevocable death of a friend – the only friend Demak had ever truly had.

Looking back now, Demak would sometimes wonder how in the Hell he'd ever managed to successfully complete his sophomore year in such a condition. In his grief, he had ceased showing up for about half of his classes, skipping meals and generally trying as hard as possible to avoid even the barest of human interaction. Cheap snacks and plenty of naps – not that he was ever really sleeping comfortably in those days – had kept his health from dipping below the absolute minimum needed to stay sane, but only just…and soon enough, even _that_ baseline seemed to be have been growing increasingly precarious.

_You need to pull yourself out of his funk, Demak. Self-destruction is not the path of the wise and noble warrior._

Deprived of the mental presence of Zeman (which, after but a few weeks of deep camaraderie, had begun to sound just as natural in the young student's head as his own inner thoughts), Demak had eventually ended up attempting to supply the spirit's sage advice himself, trying his very best to approximate the Monkey Mage's deep and rumbling tones.

_This is not the end of the world, aibou. There is nothing else you can do for me now; it is time for you to move on. No man or spirit ever achieved lasting success by dwelling on the past._

But it had been no use…he simply didn't have Zeman's talent for proverbs, nor his general air of timeless sagacity. And though Demak knew well that keeping up a constant stream of comfort and support was fundamental to remaining "in-character" as the purplish ape, the fact that Zeman's death was _entirely_ his own fault made maintaining that attitude somewhat…difficult, even for a figment of his own imagination.

_You threw me away, Demak. Callously tossed me aside, merely for the sake of your own foolish pride. You're as despicable as humans come, and I wish most desperately that we had never even met. You _know_ what I say is true._

"But…but then…what can I do?" Demak had blubbered, fully aware that he was arguing with his own inner voice and well-past the point of caring. "If I can make it up in any way…I'll do anything; _anything!_ Please, just _tell_ me…"

…_There may be a way._

This last thought had come as something of a surprise to Demak, given that – so far as _he_ was aware, at least – he had not generated it. No, his (albeit somewhat vague) plans for the day had seemed to consist of little more than a few hours of further self-beratement, before scarfing down a cup of ramen and trying to catch a snatch or two of actual sleep. But even if the unbidden thought could be dismissed as an unconscious reflex from his emaciated psyche, the fact that it was at least one octave higher than his own (where his attempt at affecting the pseudo-Zeman was rather _lower_ than his normal register, and by quite a fair margin at that) had been…curious.

And yet, in the state that he had been in at that particular moment, Demak Kera hadn't really much cared. Enthralled, he'd simply listened.

_Humans have been interacting with Duel Spirits for thousands of years, whether they realized that they were doing so or not. In ancient lore the world over, tales of their legacies remain strong – the mythologies of a hundred cultures interacting with millions of spirits, demons…even Gods. Within all those tomes, there _must_ be at least one reference to the resurrection of a spirit that has fallen before. If you truly wish to feel catharsis for your disastrous lapse into vainglory, then you must find it. Oh yes…find the way, Demak Kera…_

Then the voice was silent, and Demak had felt himself slip inexorably into the grip of true slumber for the first time in weeks, his last memories being the rather pungent and peculiarly out-of-place scent of sulfur pervading the room.

[-]

And that, roughly speaking, brought Demak to where he was now: still obsessed, and indeed perhaps moreso than ever, with locating the ever-elusive knowledge that would finally allow him and Zeman to be reunited, once and for all.

The intervening years, nearly all of them spent on wild-goose-chase after wild-goose-chase, had been unendingly torturous; several of his more promising reference texts likened losing one's Spirit Partner to losing a part of one's very soul, an observation that Demak considered acutely apt. Without Zeman in his life, there was no pleasure – food had no flavor; his sex drive stagnated completely; and even dueling, once his greatest and most intimate passion, held for him no inordinate intrigue. Indeed, since graduating with honors from Duel Academia and heading off to university in Nagoya, Demak hadn't once felt the urge to actually _play_ the game with his classmates. Until Zeman returned to become the general of his cardboard beasts once more, there was no point.

But Demak would not give up; his past state of abject dejection had done nothing but waste time, and he was determined never to make that same mistake again. Every waking moment of the past three years or so not already consumed by classwork or the various part-time jobs he used to fund his education was dedicated solely to Duel Spirit research, much of it taking place within the university library but other portions involving the acquisition of "materials" from various peddlers of the mysterious and the arcane – and typically, rather shady ones at that. The implications of the fact that he now possessed not one, but _three_ ancient tomes bearing heavy bloodstains across their pages were certainly not lost on him.

Of course, that wasn't to say that the search had been going at all smoothly. Dead-ends were abound virtually every day, as separating those myths that might well have sprung from a grain of truth from those that were entirely fiction was not an easy task. It was clear, at least, that quite a few cultures of antiquity had had some sort of contact with Duel Spirits in the past, though they hadn't always been recognized as such; the Greeks and the Norse in particular knew of them quite well, but only the ancient Egyptians seemed to have identified the Spirit World for what it truly was, and attempted to harness its power for their own gain.

But though his knowledge in these areas grew tremendously vast as the _years_ of research ticked by, Demak nevertheless drew no closer to attaining that one kernel he so desperately desired: the method by which a deceased spirit could be returned to the Earthly plane.

Restoring life that had passed from this realm to its original state was, if not outright impossible, then at least unfathomably difficult in nearly every legend that Demak devoured. Those men, monsters, and Gods fated to die throughout the course of Ragnarök were amply numerous, and its survivors so very few…and yet, the very first life destined to be claimed by the Twilight of the Gods, Odin's second son Baldr, would ultimately be amongst the resurrected as well – riding high across a new golden land wherein the Earth would spread its abundance forevermore.

On the other hand, there were the Greeks, whose tales depicted a Tartarus from which spirits supposedly _could_ escape, and yet almost never seemed to succeed. Orpheus sprang to mind immediately – the bard who had loved his wife so thoroughly that he had paid pilgrimage to the Underworld's Lord and Lady and beseeched them for her immortal soul, only to lose her at the last second to the vile temptresses of curiosity and paranoia. And then there was Sisyphus, who had quite literally _enchained_ death for a time…but the less said about how _that_ particular fable had inevitably worked out, the better.

No, with naught but these strange and contradictory myths of old to go upon, it was fairly certain that Demak would not have been making _any_ progress at this rate…were it not for the e-mails, anyway.

Each of the messages lacked an address for the sender, but certain patterns in word choice and diction made it fairly clear that they all originated from a single author. Furthermore, while it was of course impossible to discern a concrete "voice" from the written texts that arrived in his private inbox at precisely regular intervals, there was nonetheless something intimately _familiar_ about the writing style, and it didn't take much thought to realize why: these were, undoubtedly, the words of the same person who had sent him that mental "message" years ago. That experience had proved so profoundly bizarre that he would easily have been willing to write it off as the product of extreme hunger and sleep deprivation combining with severe depression, but the continued reception of these additional pieces of information seemed to cast doubt upon that notion.

The e-mails varied in their particular content, though each ended with an affirmation that Demak should not give in, as Zeman's revivification was surely but a few short days away. Beyond that, they frequently recommended particular texts or "suppliers" to maintain the momentum of his journey, or else nuggets of knowledge meant to expand the young man's understanding of all Thirteen Dimensions within the grander cosmos. Occasionally, his mysterious benefactor would even wire him some much-needed cash, so that he might do a bit of world-traveling on weekends in connection with his…"work."

Things continued roughly in this same pattern for nearly ten years following the sending of the first e-mail, for while Demak himself eventually graduated into the working world with multiple business degrees, soon enough landing a lucrative and relatively stable position at KaibaCorp, his relentless pursuit of Duel Spirit-related knowledge remained the one constant factor. He still received the anonymous messages every week on the dot, and he still spent the entirety of his free time searching for that one obscure text or tome that might hold the secret he had waited so long to uncover.

Why he didn't even once stop to _question_ this unusual state of affairs, Demak would have had significant trouble answering if asked, but regardless he pressed on. After all, stopping to wonder exactly who else in the world would possibly gain from his reunion with Zeman, particularly to such a degree that they would go through _this_ much trouble to assist him, wasn't going to bring his mission any closer to fruition.

[-]

April 7, 2021 had not appeared to be at all an unusual day from the outset. It was a Wednesday, meaning that a fresh e-mail was due to arrive about an hour before he left for work, and indeed no sooner had Demak opened up his inbox than a blinking icon indicated a new electronic message, rendered in his benefactor's familiar Courier typeface. Smiling contentedly, Demak poured himself a cup of black coffee and began to read.

**The time has finally come to end this charade, Demak Kera of Earth.**

**Let there be no mistake – you have been an impressive stooge, and a great asset to my operations within this particular Universe. But there is only so much any given pawn can do in a state of stagnation, and thus it is time for this world's massive chessboard to be "shuffled" accordingly.**

**Read carefully, young mortal: the key to the fulfillment of your heart's deepest desire lies in the infinite power of Duel Energy. It is the primordial force that makes up the barrier between dimensions, and in sufficient quantities it can break the very laws of reality itself. To reconnect with your lost partner, you must harness that energy's miraculous potential.**

**You know, of course, that about ten years ago – as you humans prefer to count time, at least – a cataclysm struck your planet, a devastating event dubbed "Zero Reverse." You will also have no doubt been told that the origin of this catastrophe was a freak earthquake. This is a lie.**

**On the day in question, several of the modern mages you call "scientists" unlocked the full power of Duel Energy…with disastrous results. Since then, their successors have put their research toward capturing those energies for power and profit, rebranding it with the moniker "Momentum." But though your leaders revel in the transformative effect their work has wrought upon Earth's politics and economy, all but a very select few are blind to the true extent of what was discovered that idle spring evening.**

**There is one, however, who still remains: one of the assistant researchers on the project, a man by the name of Rudger Goodwin. Since the dawn of the era of Momentum, he has ensconced himself within the ruinous remains of his former laboratory, located deep at the heart of the slums that Domino City has cast off and forgotten…the island of Satellite.**

**It is imperative that you seek out this man immediately. Restoring your partner's spirit will be utterly impossible without his assistance, as will the culmination of your own, personal fate.**

**This will be our last correspondence, young mortal. Within the next moment, you shall forget everything you have ever known or suspected about my identity – indeed, you shall forget about me and my messages altogether. All you shall know, from this point onward, is that you **_**must**_** find Rudger Goodwin.**

**This is the end of the line, my dear pawn. I would wish you well in your future endeavors…but, of course, I already know precisely how each and every one of them shall be resolved. Enjoy your destiny, Demak Kera of Earth – it is truly a marvelous one.**

Slowly, Demak Kera lowered his coffee cup and began to breathe rather heavily, his eyes sliding in-and-out of focus as he did. Then he absentmindedly proceeded to delete every anonymous message saved in his inbox (why _did_ he have so many, anyway?) and pack a bag with travel essentials. All previous notions of heading off to work today were pushed decisively aside – after all, he _had_ to get to Neo Domino City immediately, so that he might have a chance to meet this "Rudger Goodwin" for himself. How exactly that idea had lodged itself so firmly in his head neither concerned nor even _occurred_ to Demak at any point; all that mattered was that Zeman would soon be his to love and hold once again.

So soon…so _very_ soon…

[-]

Finding his way into the abandoned laboratory where Momentum had first been discovered hadn't exactly been a walk in the park.

Having never actually travelled to Domino City in the past, before or after its renaming, Demak hadn't fully appreciated until today just how strict the Public Security Maintenance Bureau was about…"border security." To be more precise, local law enforcement was rather adamant that no one within the sprawling metropolis be allowed to cross into the ghetto that lay in its shadow, or vice-versa; specific permits were apparently necessary even to venture into the bay that lay between them, on penalty of up to twenty years if caught.

Fortunately, if there was one thing that Demak had learned over his many years of Duel Spirit research, it was that there was a market for every possible need…legal or otherwise. Asking around in the right places gave the young businessman the names of several human traffickers specializing in just this department, though their clients were – understandably – rather more typically desirous of travelling in the _opposite_ direction. Still, these were the types of people whom Demak could generally trust not to pry, so long as his money was good…most involved seemed to assume that he was going to "blow off some steam" at the expense of the Satellite natives, apparently an increasingly popular late-night activity for Neo Domino's upper-class youth.

In retrospect, however, that had been the easy part. The Satellite's reputation was notorious across all of Japan, and by all accounts it seemed to live up to the hearsay entirely; no sooner had he stepped forth into the B.A.D. district, the place where his subconscious was indicating quite strongly that he should begin looking for Rudger, than he was mugged by a teenager with silver hair and a bandana, who carried off his travel bag with a mad cackle. At least he had thought to hide the broken pieces of Zeman on his person, in fear that something just like this might happen on the way – everything else was replaceable.

Still, the B.A.D. area was clearly where Satellite's most despicable criminals had carved out their hovels, and it certainly showed. Various men with twisted faces and cruel features leered at him dangerously as he passed, occasionally unsheathing knives in silent threat, though none of them actively assaulted him further. One alleyway featured an elderly gentleman getting beaten bloodily – Demak walked past without a second glance – while another displayed the horrifying image of a young girl in the first stages of what was unmistakably a gang rape. At this, Demak paused for quite a bit longer…but ultimately he passed by there as well. This wasn't his town, and that wasn't his problem.

And so, soon enough, Demak Kera had arrived at the former Momentum research facility (which was, mercifully, fairly easy to locate from a distance if one knew generally where to look) bearing the clothes on his back and little else. Fingering the ripped remains of his fallen friend with a mixture of apprehension and trepidation, the young man turned over his shoulder to ensure that no one had followed him and, satisfied, pushed open the unlocked front doors.

The sight that greeted him might well have come straight out of a horror novel. Rather than the crisp and pristine – if abandoned – scientific laboratory he had been expecting, the innards of this building were covered wall-to-wall with gothic architecture and Victorian artwork, its dim hallways lit solely by eerily glowing torches placed at regular intervals. The exact _condition_ of these adornments was the strangest thing, however; while entirely clean and dust-free otherwise, nearly every single portrait or piece of furniture he passed came complete with an intricate cobweb or two, some of the larger ones sprawling for meters on-end. The overall effect was…unsettling, to say the least.

"Well, well, well…welcome to my parlor, said the spider to the monkey," came a deep voice from directly behind him, and an intense chill ran down Demak's back as he slowly turned backward, now acutely aware that he was not alone in this nightmarish citadel.

The other figure was clearly male, though most of his face could not be seen; a brazen cloak of black and crimson was draped over his shoulders, obscuring all but a thinly curled mouth. Too stunned and intimated by the other man's sudden appearance to come up with an intelligent response, Demak ended up blurting out the first thing that popped into his head. "That's…not the right quote," he stammered, rather awkwardly.

"Hmm?" the robed figure murmured with intrigue, tugging down his hood to reveal a face-full of ritual tattoos; a long plait of prim, silvery hair; and, most disturbingly, what appeared to be jet-black _eyes_. "Now, what do you mean by that?"

"Err…it's just that, you misquoted the original poem…" Demak muttered, his voice trailing. "I mean, most people seem to make the same mistake…but it actually opens with 'will you walk _into_ my parlor?' Umm…not that it really matters, of course…sir…"

"Oh, I certainly wouldn't agree on _that_ front," the man argued with a low chortle. "Attention to detail is _everything_ in my…business, you might say. And it's certainly useful to know that you are a genuinely learned individual; that should make a few things _quite_ a bit easier."

"Umm…pardon me for my forwardness, sir, but are you by any chance Rudger Goodwin?" Demak managed to spit out, his brain finally beginning to snap back to some semblance of equanimity.

"That was indeed my human name. And you, Demak Kera, have come quite a bit of distance just to find me," Rudger declared, his ebony eyes gleaming. It wasn't a question.

"H…How do you know who I am?" asked Demak, his own eyes wide in shock.

"I am a diviner of spiritual matters, young sir…there is no way I could have missed you sniffing around the mystical laylines like a bloodhound all these years," Rudger answered matter-of-factly.

"But…I thought that you were a physicist," Demak queried, his face contorted in confusion.

"Once upon a time, yes…though not for quite a few years by this point," Rudger responded, now taking a few purposeful steps forward. "Not once since my rebirth have I engaged in such pathetically _human_ a discipline."

"I'm…not sure I follow," Demak admitted, his eyes instinctively darting around to gain a better idea of potential escape routes. He didn't think he liked this man very much.

"Then come with me, and I shall explain everything on the way. There's been something I've been simply _dying_ to show off for years, and this is the perfect opportunity. I think both you and your…_little friend_ will find it rather intriguing," Rudger added with a wry grin.

_That_ got Demak's attention. "How do you…?" he whispered.

"You don't get to where I am without picking up a few things," Rudger returned enigmatically. "But I assure you, I only know of your…situation in broad-strokes, and am more than willing to listen to the finer details and provide whatever assistance I can. All I ask…is that you extend me the same courtesy."

Every sane and rational impulse in Demak's head was screaming at him to turn tail and run as far from there as was humanly possible, but nevertheless his feet remained planted firmly where he stood. He had waited _so_ long for an opportunity like this, wading through hundreds of dead-ends and false leads, that to walk away at this point…no, no. It was far too late for that.

"…Let's see this big secret of yours, then," he finally uttered, swallowing audibly and desperately hoping that he wasn't just making one more in a long lifetime of mistakes.

[-]

"Magnificent, isn't it?" Rudger breathed reverentially, and Demak couldn't help but agree entirely.

There was a sea of light swimming below them, every hue imaginable ebbing and flowing against each other in a dance that was beyond description. Demak vaguely recognized the rainbow-like energy as the same glow that lived within all Duel Disks from Generation 7.0 and higher…but there really was no comparing the two. Like a droplet of water set against a vast ocean, there was an indescribable _power_ possessed solely by the latter, if only for its sheer size and scope.

"This is, as you've probably already surmised, the limitless pool of Momentum I left in my wake when I forcibly tore open the gates of Hell," Rudger went on after a few moments' ponderous silence. "Or have I not gotten to that part of the story yet?"

"If you're alluding to the fact that _you_ caused the Zero Reverse incident, then I already know that much," said Demak, not bothering to think too deeply about _where_ exactly the knowledge in question had come from. "But while this is, unquestionably, an awe-inspiring sight, I remain…unsure of its relevance to my case."

"You mentioned, on the way down here, that you believed your dear Spirit Partner to be dead because the card representing its mortal incarnation had been torn in two?" Rudger replied, his left hand running absentmindedly along some sort of tattoo or birthmark etched into his right forearm. "Well, I have good news on that front. Your spirit – 'Mezan,' did you say his name was? – has not departed from this world. No, he has merely lost his tether to the Earth-plane…a tether that can only be reestablished with the boundless power that swirls beneath us."

"So…what _exactly_ are you getting at?" Demak demanded, sounding rather more upset than he had meant to. "Are you suggesting that I should just…?"

"Drop them in, yes," Rudger interjected with a smirk. "The original card you held is a lost cause, but with the right kind of influence from Momentum's light I believe that your Spirit Partner can be reborn – stronger, wiser, and most pertinently, _immortal._"

"And…how do you know this will work?" Demak pressed on further, his eyes beginning to grow slightly wet from the rapid escalation of his passion.

"Well, for one thing…it was precisely what happened to me," Rudger told him, pulling back his sleeve to better display the markings Demak had noticed earlier. The thing was far too intricate to be a birthmark, and yet it did not visually resemble any sort of ink tattoos he had ever seen in his life…though the purplish glow it took on as Rudger held it toward him was, arguably, a rather bigger tip-off that something "unusual" was afoot.

"You see, the reason that I exacted Zero Reverse in the first place was to right an ancient wrong – the imprisonment of the glorious Earthbound Gods by their accursed foe, the Crimson Dragon," Rudger elaborated, his expression flaring. "The first of those Gods to make their way into this brave new world, the Jibakushin Uru, marked my corpse with this sign and permitted me the chance to rise again, just so long as I agreed to serve him for the rest of my eternal days. Perhaps the same can be done for your spirit."

"…Why do you say, 'perhaps,' Mister Goodwin?" Demak demanded after several quiet beats, his lip quivering and his eyes bulging at these revelations. Even for someone who had lived _his_ kind of life, this was…something else…

"Because I was a human, and that is a _card_," Rudger stated curtly, looking like he was very much resisting the urge to roll his eyes. For all of Demak's panicking and anxiety, the older man seemed like they might as well have been discussing lunch. "I really have no precedent to judge whether or not something like this will truly work. But Uru is…optimistic, and my God has never given me a reason to doubt its ancient wisdom."

"I…well, that is to say…_no!_ That isn't enough for me!" Demak suddenly exploded, grabbing Rudger by the shoulder and shaking him. "Unless you can _guarantee_ that Zeman will be able to return…I'm _not_ risking all I have left of him for this!"

"Well, I'm afraid that I simply cannot do that," Rudger shot back. "However…_you_ can."

"And what the Hell does _that_ mean?" exclaimed Demak, sinking to his knees in frustration.

"I mean only that we _are_ certain of one thing: the effect of Momentum's purifying aura upon a human fully willing to sacrifice themselves for the greater good," Rudger explained, gesturing to himself. "Should you yourself…_repeat_ that deed, you should be able to 'guide' the similar process of your Spirit Partner, as it were. All you need to do is…"

"…Jump in together," Demak finished for him, his voice ringing hollow as he realized just what this was all finally coming down to. His gaze was no longer concentrated upon Rudger's stern face, but on the dazzling brilliance that danced below – displaying itself for him, entrancing him…_calling_ for him…

Then, without really considering what he was doing, Demak Kera had the broken pieces of the Monkey Mage Zeman grasped tightly in his fist, and before he could risk losing his nerve, he wrenched himself to his feet, closed his eyes tight, and took a single step forward.

[-]

There was light all around him, and yet Demak could see nothing.

He could, however, _feel_…and what he felt was, unambiguously, the most excruciating pain he had ever experienced. Thinking back, he supposed that this torturous state of existence was somewhat similar to the one that "Darkness" entity had entrapped him within all those years ago…except that now, not even the screams of fellow captives served to keep him company. Floating throughout this infinite blackness, enshrouded by luminance that his mortal eyes could not absorb, he was truly alone.

But no…no, he wasn't. Zeman's physical manifestation still lay between his fingers, and though he could not lay sight upon it, he _knew_ that the dormant spirit within was going through precisely the same anguish. Both inside his hand and inside his very own soul, the life was rapidly fading…and yet, somehow, Demak's presence of mind never seemed to do the same. In fact, it was almost as if he was beginning to…_hear_ something…

_You are the mortal for whom I have hungered all these years, are you not? Oh yes…the glorious scents of despair and desperation are all about you._

By this point, Demak figured that he should've gotten used to hearing voices in his head, but whether it was his present circumstances or the sheer _power_ inherent in those sonorous tones, he could not bring himself to even attempt to answer. Of course, the fact that the most pertinent question right now was whether he was fully or only _mostly_ dead might just have contributed to his relative…silence.

_Ah, and I see you have brought Me an additional offering as well! Oh, but don't misunderstand Me, Demak Kera…I can read your heart in an instant, and I can fulfill your greatest wish with absolute ease. While I have never revived a Duel Spirit with My energies, I am eager to try – and if you shall consent to the same, and swear fealty to the Jibakushin Cusillu for all eternity, I shall ensure that all will be well for the both of you. Now…do We have a deal?_

Unable to do anything else, Demak thought vaguely in the affirmative and hoped that that would suffice. And, based on what happened next…it did.

Suddenly the young businessman felt his entire body being forcibly rent open, his departing life force giving way to a cavity that this deep-voiced entity seemed only to happy to refill. It was agony, and for several long moments Demak Kera's existence was nothing more than a swirling eruption of pain, the white-hot intensity of it all forming the first and only image he had ever been able to witness in this endless abyss. The same excruciating process, albeit with its medium somewhat altered, seemed to be going on within his right palm, and for all that time Demak found himself drawn most of all to two particular sensations in this all-around state of oblivion: a series of intricate lines etching themselves painfully into his forearm, and right below them, the shining white Duel Monsters card slowly beginning to reseal itself as the unknowable magicks of this realm burned a new identity into its fabric.

And then…then, as suddenly as it had all begun, it was over.

Demak was being lifted, now, and as his eyes started to blink open once more he soon beheld the sight of his savior – an enormous monkey composed of dense, black matter and glowing contours of brilliant yellow. Held firmly within the creature's palm, the young man caught a glimpse of a strange violet glow out the corner of his eye and, in dumbstruck awe, began to survey himself.

Gone were his old, unremarkable garments, seared away by the blinding energies from which he had just been extracted. Instead he now appeared to be wearing monk-like robes, very similar to Rudger's, though the trim was gold rather than scarlet. Feeling about his skull, he soon realized that his hair had been burned off as well, and he would not have been surprised to learn that his eyes had taken on the same ebony sheen as those of the man who was now leering at his new form.

Most distinct, however, was the mark that now adorned his right arm, a blazing purplish pictograph that roughly matched the shape of the being who had rescued him. An unfamiliar power was flowing from the sign and into his fist, and as the enormous monkey slowly lowered him back onto the scaffolding, he opened his fingers to bear witness to Zeman, looking as good as new.

"Zeman? Monkey Mage Zeman, can you hear me?" he beseeched desperately, running his shaking fingers all over the card in a fit of panic.

_No…no Demak, that is not my name. Not anymore._

Demak's ebony eyes bulged, and he staggered back a few steps as if struck violently over the head. He dared not believe he'd heard what he _thought_ he just heard, and yet…

Giving Zeman's card a second look-over as he had been bidden, Demak very soon realized that he had been wrong. While still very close to its former incarnation, the picture, effect, and even _name_ of the Synchro Monster had all changed slightly; indeed, he wasn't quite sure that it even _was_ a Synchro Monster any longer, given that its background and Level Stars both seemed to have been flipped into their direct photo-negatives. No, Zeman hadn't come back to him "good as new" at all…he had come back far _better._

"Demonic Monkey King Zeman, I do humbly greet thee," Demak gasped throatily, his heart filling rapidly with a joy he hadn't experienced in over a decade.

_Indeed, Demak…that is my new title. Our mutual benefactor has not only reunited our fractured bond, but has also endowed us both with powers far exceeding those of our former selves. We owe the Earthbound God Cusillu our endless gratitude…and our undying loyalty._

"Yes…yes, of course…" spoke Demak, raising himself back up to his fullest height and turning to Rudger, whose wide grin seemed to be composed of equal parts smug satisfaction and genuine warmth, and then further to the titanic monkey, its expressionless face regarding him imperiously. Clearing his throat and wiping the first inklings of tears from his blackened retinas, Demak timidly added, "Th…Thank you, Lord Cusillu. This is…more than I could have ever hoped for…"

"I should certainly think so, My avatar. I took a great chance upon you, so pray that you do not disappoint My faith," the Jibakushin declared sternly. A few beats passed before Cusillu seemed to think better of this demeanor, appending in a cooler tone, "But I do not have any reason to believe you shall, naturally. Your exceptional tenacity, particularly as a member of such a middling and insipid race, has been enough to impress even a God, and I am certain that you shall continue to act in a…_comparable_ manner while in My service. So it is sworn, so shall it be done."

"Certainly, my Lord, certainly!" Demak cried out, bowing as low as he possibly could without hurting himself – which, he noted briefly, was quite a bit further than he would have otherwise expected. "But, if I might be so bold…err, what exactly do you _mean_ by that? What will be required of me in exchange for these wondrous gifts?"

Cusillu's blazing eyes seemed to narrow for a moment, before it elucidated, "When you and your Spirit Partner willingly bathed yourselves in the power of the Hikari-no-Yami, you surrendered your mortal lives completely…and I, being a merciful God, did extend a certain portion of My own magicks to resurrect you both, albeit in _My_ image. All I asked in return was for you to follow in the path My brethren and I have carved toward your planet's Final End; Uru's host should be able to fill you in on the rest of the details. Now, is Our bargain _finally_ fully understood…or have I been wasting My attentions and energies all this time?"

"Oh no, no!" protested Demak, though his face betrayed his lingering misgivings. Shuddering deeply as he stared at the pitch-black card in his palm, he then asked, "Well…I guess I just need to know one thing: will Zeman and I be allowed to…to stay together?"

"In a manner of speaking…yes," Cusillu slowly answered. "You two are connected, mentally and spiritually, and shall remain so for as long as I exist in this plane. But you must realize what a…unique opportunity I have been handed this day, and it would be utterly foolish for Me _not_ to take full advantage of it. As such, Demak Kera, I wish for you to serve as the second-in-command to Uru's host, and spread the will of the Underworld throughout this entire dimension. You on the other hand, Demonic Monkey King Zeman, must return to your world of origin for the time being – the land known to all as the Ancient Forest."

"And what must I do there, my Lord?" Zeman questioned, now half-materializing into the transparent spirit form that only Demak – and most likely Cusillu, given the trajectory of its unblinking gaze – could see.

"The same thing as Uru and I have commanded Our hosts to do _here_, of course," the monkey responded tersely. "I have endowed you with powers far outstripping any average spirit, and a title marking your destiny as that of a monarch; use these assets to subjugate all that you see to your will. Or, more accurately, to _Mine._"

"It shall be done, oh Great God of Death!" avowed Zeman, the zeal in his voice flaring as he prostrated himself.

"And as for you, then?" Cusillu demanded, inclining its massive head toward Demak once more. "Do you find these terms…amenable?"

Demak Kera considered this question for a very long time. On the one hand, he had never exactly considered "bringing about Armageddon" as a possible career path, and his stomach clenched slightly at the thought of causing death to every human friend or family member he had ever known – he had no false delusions over the scale or breadth of these entities' plans, after all. And yet…could it really be said that he _cared_ for any of them, as of this moment? For virtually all of his life, Zeman had been the only remotely meaningful relationship he had ever shared with another being. Now he had a chance to get him back, albeit somewhat distantly. But they would be connected again, tied together inexorably by this immortal being, and working toward the same goal as well. Even if that goal was the destruction of all life in existence…did it really matter?

…And besides, so far as he had surmised from both Cusillu's monologues and his feelings of inherent _wrongness_ within his own skin, he was now dead. A walking corpse didn't really have a lot of options ahead of them – save those commanded by their reanimator. In the last hour, he had quite unambiguously passed the point of no return…so if it was truly too late to turn back, he had may as well make the most of it.

"Very well, my Lord," Demak finally pronounced, sharing a long, meaningful glance with his Spirit Partner. "I live to serve your will, until the very end of time."

"Well, to play semantics, you do not actually _live_ at all. But the sentiment is appreciated all the same, my host," the Jibakushin Cusillu affirmed, now beginning to dissolve into a dark vapor that swirled about the spacious chamber. "I expect great works from the both of you, in the name of the Gods of Old!"

And then, with a great, simian-like screech, the Earthbound God was gone completely, the haze left in its wake flowing slowly but purposefully into Demak's birthmark. A moment later he instinctively knew that the monkey had taken up residence in his subconscious, presumably so as to watch him…but the loyalty he had sworn was sincere, so there was nothing to worry about on _that_ front.

Pushing those thoughts to the side for the moment, Demak instead turned to Zeman, whose slight smile appeared bittersweet. "After all this time…it looks like we'll have to be separating again soon," the newly reborn Dark Signer stated tentatively.

Zeman, however, shook his crown-adorned head. "No, Demak…worlds we may be apart in body, but in spirit, we shall always be connected," he said soothingly. "This mission our God has given us will not be a simple one…but together, I know that we can accomplish whatsoever we desire. Before you, the human realm shall crumble, and before I, the spiritual; none who draw breath shall stop our onslaught. But throughout it all, we shall be as one…now and forevermore."

"I…thanks, Zeman," whispered Demak. "Hearing that from you, it…it means a lot to me."

The two beings could not truly embrace, but Zeman gave it his closest approximation, and like the headstrong youth he had been when they first met Demak wept freely, burying his face as close as possible to the spirit's translucent fur as he cried for all that he had lost this day…and all that he had gained.

But that picturesque moment could not last forever, and so once Demak had gotten his momentary breakdown roughly under control, Zeman smiled at him once again and, nodding slowly, returned to his newly repaired cardboard vessel.

Demak, for his part, again wiped the tears from his eyes using the edge of his cloak, before pocketing his freshly acquired "Dark Synchro" and pulling up his hood to appear more dignified. Rudger, meanwhile, seemed fairly bemused by the whole affair, and once his opposite number had sufficiently straightened his garments he chuckled merrily and posed the query, "Alright now, is the soap opera finally over with? Because we've got a fair bit of planning to get to."

"Planning…yeah, that sounds about right," Demak agreed, clenching both fists in silent resignation. "Let's get to work."


	3. Part III: Misty Lola

**I Am Become Death – Misty Lola**

_Disclaimer: In case you haven't figured it out yet, I don't own Yu-Gi-Oh! 5D's. All Yu-Gi-Oh!-related characters, settings, etc. are the intellectual property of Kazuki Takahashi._

[-]

"_And I saw another mighty angel come down from heaven, clothed with a cloud: and a rainbow was upon his head, and his face was as it were the sun, and his feet as pillars of fire. And he had in his hand a little book open: and he set his right foot upon the sea, and his left foot on the earth, and cried with a loud voice, as when a lion roareth: and when he had cried, seven thunders uttered their voices."_

– **The Book of Revelation, 10:1**

[-]

"Okay, try again," intoned the sweet, serene voice of Misty Lola, to which her brother Toby cooed and clapped his hands happily.

Getting Toby to play the games that interested most children was never an easy prospect; the four year-old was simply too distractible, even compared to most other kids his age. He hadn't started talking yet, for one thing…preferring instead to toddle around constantly and affix his gaze to various household items in turn, with apparently no rhyme-or-reason to his choices. A pile of building blocks, like the one Misty was trying in vain to get Toby to focus on right now, apparently held exactly the same amount of fascination for the youngster as did a footstool.

Misty sighed, but also smiled; as difficult as taking care of Toby could sometimes be, she couldn't say that she didn't enjoy the experience on the whole. Yes, thirteen years-old was probably a _little_ young to be a child's primary caretaker, but if she didn't then she knew that no one else would, so she toughed it out. It wasn't like they had the money lying around to simply hire a nanny, and as for their parents…well, that was just laughable.

Oftentimes, though less so in recent years, Misty would idly wonder where the couple would go gallivanting off to for days or even weeks at a time, leaving her in charge of more-or-less everything back at home – Toby included. Occasionally she entertained more fantastical notions, such as that they were secretly spending their nights as cat burglars or serial killers, but odds were good the explanation was far more mundane than that: they were just irresponsible people, and Misty was determined _not_ to emulate them.

Fortunately, teachers had generally been understanding – most of her classes were now taken by correspondence, with only the rare "check-in" session with a faculty advisor required to ensure that she didn't fall behind in her coursework. It helped immensely that she was, by all accounts, an exceptional student; at thirteen she was already set to graduate high school in a manner of months, with the equivalent of her freshman year of university already set-up for the upcoming scholastic season. It was a lonely existence, perhaps…but well-worth it, if this little child could grow up with the love and care she had so craved throughout _her_ youth.

Misty was eventually shocked out of her brief reverie by the eager squeaking of her brother, who was tugging at the hem of her skirt and making the motion that every parental figure on Earth knew meant "up." Smiling warmly again, the teenager swooped him up and bounced him a couple of times, receiving a delighted giggle in response. "At least there's _one_ thing I know you'll focus on," she observed with her own light chuckle, staring deeply into Toby's watery eyes as she did.

Then, to put it _very_ mildly, something rather odd happened.

Barefoot as she currently was, it did not take Misty long to realize that the soles of her feet were no longer in contact with the ground. Indeed, a quick glance downward confirmed that she was currently hovering at least half a meter above the ground, though nothing else appeared to have changed.

Too shocked to react outwardly with the same…"energy" as she was doing inwardly, Misty found herself unable to do anything more than mutely open her mouth and then close it back up several times in succession, an action which apparently triggered Toby's "giggle reflex" all over again.

…And with that, Misty's feet collided rather ungracefully with the floor, their owner still dumbstruck by what she had just witnessed.

[-]

While nothing else out of the ordinary happened that day, Misty kept a much closer eye on her brother's daily actions from thence onward…and rapidly, the targets of his strangely protracted sessions of intense focus no longer seemed so random. Whether it be a toy or a random kitchen appliance, bizarre things were almost sure to follow whenever the boy concentrated on a particular object long-and-hard enough. The symptoms were anything but consistent, but then he _was_ a child, so whatever the Hell was going on here, she doubted he had much of any conscious control over it.

Still, random objects floating or changing colors or turning to liquid – though only ever for a few seconds apiece, undone the moment that Toby stopped staring with perfect attention to the object in question – was turning out to be quite a frequent sight, once Misty knew to watch out for it.

Which was quickly bringing Misty to the million-yen question: to tell, or not to tell?

The point of decision hurtled toward her far quicker than she had ever thought it would, as only about a week after what her mind was unable to describe in any more specific terms than as "the incident," she'd received a surprise e-mail from her parents informing her that they would be coming home for the weekend. Short-notice, out-of-the-blue, and with nary a single question about her welfare or Toby's…yeah, pretty par for the course as far as these "visits" usually went.

Ultimately, she'd resolved to do a little…phishing before making the final call.

"So mother, father…how is work?" she asked over dinner the next evening – the couple were, at least ostensibly, independently employed loan officers.

"Closed some good contracts in America…nothing you'd be interested in," Irene Lola replied shortly, not looking up from her carton of take-out.

A long silence followed this, which Robert Lola eventually broke with a perfunctory-sounding, "I trust that your studies are going well?"

"Certainly, father," she told him, at least glad that he'd had the decency to ask _something_ about her life, as disinterested as he clearly was in her answer. "The way things are progressing, I should be graduating at least a month ahead of schedule. That'll give me a bit more time to read ahead and prepare myself for my university classes."

"I am glad to hear that," said her father, the difference between his words and the tone in which they were expressed so dramatic that it was almost comical. "And your brother?"

Misty twitched nervously. "He is…fine, father," she answered, glancing briefly in the direction of his bedroom; the boy had already been put to bed, and in the absence of any great disturbances, she figured this was as good a time as any to make her inquiries. "Although, I do have one question that I would appreciate input on from the both of you…"

"What is it?" Robert Lola demanded, his tone sounding at least mildly more interested, though still not enough for him to look up from his dinner. This was often the case when they happened to converse – Misty supposed that it probably had something to do with Toby being male.

"Well…what would be your reaction if something turned out to be a little…err…_different_ with Toby?" she responded delicately.

"Is it really possible to tell that early?" Irene Lola wondered aloud to her husband, her brow furrowed in mild curiosity. He, however, almost instantly turned livid at the question.

"Oh _fuck_ no!" Robert Lola shouted, abruptly getting to his feet and kicking his chair backward. "I am _not_ having a fucking faggot for a son!"

"Father, wait, you don't…" Misty began to protest, but the now-seething man cut across her with a sharp strike to the head.

"How could you let this happen?" he screamed, towering over her with his fist clenched, his eyes daring her to give him an excuse to use it again.

Initially, Misty had thought that the dominating emotion in response to the blow would've been pain – he had hit her _hard,_ and tears were welling up in her eyes accordingly – but at this last comment she found her own fury to be rising to its boiling point. "Why the fuck do _you_ care?" she cried out, getting to her feet as well. "It doesn't matter whether Toby's gay, straight, or purple; you wouldn't see any of it anyway!"

In her anger, Misty mentally abandoned any attempts to correct her parents' initial misconception. Besides, if they reacted _this_ strongly to something like this, she could only imagine what they'd say if she told them Toby had some weird sort of superpowers…

"Don't you talk to your father that way!" ordered Irene Lola, apparently keen to get in on the rage-fest as well. "We are still your parents, and you will…"

Misty actually laughed at that one, albeit completely humorlessly. "Since when?" she shot back. "You may have given _birth_ to Toby and I, but in what fucking universe have you acted like _parents?_ When Toby starts talking, it's going to be _me_ he calls 'momma,' not you!"

"He hasn't even started _talking_ yet?" Robert Lola bellowed, throwing his long-empty bottle of sake in Misty's general direction, though she dodged it. "Oh great, so now my son's a faggot _and_ a retard…!"

Misty slapped him across the face for that one, but her technique was wild enough that the strike barely connected. His fist, on the other hand, hit its mark perfectly once again.

Misty wasn't sure how much time the three of them spent yelling at each other across the rest of the night, her father periodically raising his hand to her afresh and usually managing to make the most of it. Her mother never attacked her directly but did occasionally throw various kitchen objects her way, her poor aim offset by the slowdown effect of the bruises and abrasions Misty was rapidly accumulating.

Regardless of how long it lasted, however, the fighting abruptly ceased when a great cry erupted from the adjacent room, followed a moment later by the toddling figure of Toby Lola. Given the sheer volume of their "confrontation" Misty was hardly surprised that they had managed to awaken him, though she felt quite guilty for it; her parents, on the other hand, seemed to be regarding the wailing child as if they'd never seen anything like him before.

"Can't you shut him up?" exclaimed Robert Lola, his hands over his ears. Misty started toward her brother in response, but her mother got there first.

Picking Toby up as Misty looked on in horror, Irene Lola began to shake the toddler vigorously. When this failed to achieve the desired result, the woman exhibited only the slightest amount of hesitation before growling in frustration and striking the child.

Misty immediately gasped in terror and revulsion at this display and rushed forward to snatch Toby from her mother, but she needn't have bothered; for the briefest of moments in the aftermath of the slap, Toby ceased his bawling and stared straight into his attacker's eyes.

Then, without warning, Irene Lola crumpled to the ground.

Robert Lola, for his part, appeared to be at a complete loss for words as Misty made a wild dive to catch her brother before he could fall to the ground. In the absence of speech to express his ever-rising choler, however, he seemed poised to make up for it via his fists, given the way he was now staring at _both_ his children.

He only made it three steps, however, before Toby looked up at him with unblinking innocence and he, too, collapsed.

[-]

"Both of your parents are experiencing completely normal cognitive function, but remain unresponsive," explained the white-coated doctor, gesturing to charts and figures on a clipboard which Misty couldn't make heads-or-tails of. "Truly, while I've seen my fair share of coma patients over the years, their brain-scans are unlike any I've ever seen in the field. I've paged for a specialist from the neurology department."

"Thank you very much, Doctor…" Misty began, glancing at the nametag on his lapel to finish the salutation. "Err, yes, thank you Doctor Goat. Is there anything else you need from me?"

"No, no. Actually, you can go in and visit them now, if you'd like," he told her with a patronizing – if perhaps not intentionally so – pat to the head. Then he turned around and walked off, presumably to see another patient.

Misty, however, did not move from her current spot; she didn't feel at all like facing her mother and father at the moment, comas or not. Especially not with Toby in wait – the little boy didn't seem to have any comprehension of the severity of current events, instead toddling around with his mouth wide-open, as if this outing was to some fascinating new amusement park. Although, Misty supposed, there probably wasn't much difference between the two from his perspective.

…And for as long as was humanly possible, Misty preferred to keep it that way.

Apparently growing bored with watching the activity at the nurses' station after a little while, Toby eventually turned back to his sister and climbed into her lap, which she welcomed with soft strokes to his hair. So profoundly ignorant he was right now…and honestly, Misty would give much to be in the same position at this particular moment.

It'd been a long night – not only because of all the medical paperwork and such she'd had to fill out one-handed (the other one wrapped tightly around Toby's to prevent him from wandering, of course), but also because of the seemingly endless harangues she'd been receiving from the police ever since they'd arrived on the scene.

Fortunately, since assault-by-telepathy was not currently a chargeable crime, the authorities had believed her when she'd claimed she had no idea why her parents had so suddenly fallen comatose, but there still remained the not-so-small matter of what one of the emergency responders had happened across when moving the bodies. A single, extremely suspicious-looking document found in Robert Lola's shirt pocket had resulted in a search warrant, and _that_ had resulted in Misty finally finding out what her parents did for a living.

They were, it had turned out, professional scam artists, and the paper trail now being uncovered was looking to implicate them in the largest American Ponzi scheme since that of Bernie Madoff. This was, of course, hardly good news from Misty's perspective – with the money she'd been living on for her entire life declared at least predominately illicit, she was likely going to find herself without access to any of it very soon. And with her parents marked for long prison sentences upon waking (if they were ever going to wake up at all) and no known adult relatives to speak of, that meant that her immediate future – and Toby's – was decidedly unclear.

"Don't worry, Toby," she whispered softly, continuing to stroke her brother's hair as he started to drift off to sleep in her arms. "Everything will be alright. Everything will _always_ be alright. I promise."

She swallowed a lump in her throat, desperate not to show her own tears in front of the child.

"I _promise…_"

[-]

A whole lot of bureaucratic red-tape and piles of paperwork later, and Misty and Toby Lola were being driven to their very first foster home. Misty had heard all of the horror stories and, in general, had been assuming the worst – ready to fight tooth-and-nail with whatever abusive, money-grubbing bastard the state had decided to fling their way.

That…hadn't exactly been what had happened.

"Don't be nervous," a heavyset government agent attempted to assure them from the front seat. "Your new guardian has a lot of experience with kids. I hear he used to be a teacher at Duel Academia, of all places; retired a couple years ago. It should be fun living with someone who knows that much about Duel Monsters, right?"

"I suppose," Misty mumbled with a sigh. "I don't really play that game very much. Never enough money laying around for…that kind of thing."

"Well, maybe that'll all change here!" the agent replied brightly, pulling up into the driveway of a well-sized but extremely strange-looking house. Misty merely nodded as she helped Toby unbuckle himself and led him out of the government van.

The most striking feature of this dwelling, Misty noted, was definitely its age – everything about it, from the intricate gratings and romantic statuettes on the roof to the antique, wolf-shaped knocker on the double doors they were fast approaching, screamed a rather different century than the twenty-first. A red, white, and green flag flew in the wind from atop a tall steeple, though Misty couldn't quite place the country of origin – too many European flags looked identical to her.

Holding her breath without really realizing it, Misty gave up trying to guess and instead lifted the knocker twice.

"I shall be there in just a minute, na no ne?" called out a much older male voice from inside the house, and after a few moments of silence – punctuated by the distinct sound of someone tripping and crashing to the ground – the door opened, and the children first set sights on their new guardian.

He was…well, "distinctive" was certainly a good word. There was clearly a deep connection between the man's decorative sense with regards to his home and with regards to his own appearance, as both his attire and his makeup (yes, _makeup_) brought to mind a style that might well have been the height of fashion in the Victorian Era, but a few hundred years later…

"Buongiorno, Signorina Misty," he greeted her with a polite nod, his accent thick but understandable. "I am Professor Cronos de Medici. And this must be Signore Toby, na no ne?"

"Err…yes, yes sir," she answered, somewhat awkwardly, as the rather tall gentleman bent down nearly a meter in order to look the children in the eye. He received a sharp tug on his long blond hair and an enthused giggle from Toby for his troubles.

Wincing, Professor Cronos straightened himself up and signed a form being held aloft by the patient government agent without another word. "Alright, it looks like everything's squared away here," said the agent, shaking the hands of both Cronos and Misty before departing. "If for whatever reason this arrangement doesn't end up working out, I've left you our office's contact info. For now, though, just make sure to have fun!"

Misty wasn't really sure what to say in response to that, so she just shuffled around on the balls of her feet and held onto Toby as the van pulled away, leaving the children and their new "father" alone on his stoop.

"Now, eh…how would you and Signore Toby like some dinner, Signorina Misty?" Professor Cronos asked after a long pause. "I cook up a mean fettuccini alfredo, no ne?"

The pause lingered. Then, Misty found herself smiling slightly, and she responded, "That…that would be nice, actually."

And with that, the trio entered the house together.

[-]

The next few weeks had progressed…interestingly.

It was evident within an hour or two in his company that Professor Cronos didn't have a whole lot of experience dealing with children outside of the classroom. Daily life with him involved pop quizzes at every turn – over breakfast, in the car, while she was brushing her teeth before bed – which admittedly made some deal of sense for _her,_ being a prodigy and all…but he also insisted on administering age-appropriate ones to Toby as well, which all ended rather predictably. Toby's latest round of hair-pulling _had_ matched the answer to Cronos' question ("What is two times four?"), though, so apparently the older gentleman was choosing to count that one as a win.

And then there were the cards; oh good _Lord,_ the cards. Professor Cronos had fallen over rather dramatically when Misty had informed him of her general disinterest in the game; for the daughter of the former principal of Duel Academia (okay, she could admit, she blushed a little bit at the term "daughter"), that simply would not do! And so accordingly, after picking up Toby from his first ever – and fortunately, psychic-accident-free – day of preschool, the trio had made a stop at the Black Clown Game Shop to pick out her first deck.

It'd been slow-goings, relatively speaking, but eventually something had managed to catch her eye, lain adrift in a small corner sandwiched-between some rather flashier Warrior and Dragon displays. As she was just beginning her college correspondence courses (which, incidentally, Cronos approved of wholeheartedly; nothing pleased him more, he would often muse aloud, than a studious student who applied themselves fully to their studies) she was beginning to focus upon the field of Classics, with an emphasis in Greek mythology. Given this, seeing a neat row of grotesque Gorgons struck an instant chord with her.

"These ones, Cronos-sensei," she said, pointing to the Reptiless' Vengeance Structure Deck (with nine all-new cards and a limited-edition reprint of _Mischief of the Time Goddess!_, read the box). "I mean, if that's not too much…"

"What? Nonsense! Every duelist should wield the cards that he or she feels the deepest connection to, na no ne?" Cronos declared loudly, striking a thespian pose. If he noticed that everyone else in the store, the owner included, turned to stare at him at this outburst, then he did not seem to care. "Now, who is the proprietor of this establishment?"

"Err…that would be me," answered the owner, a younger gentleman with a rather bizarre haircut and even _more_ bizarre tastes in jewelry. "Ryuji Otogi, manager of the Black Clown Game Shop and head of its parent company, Black Clown Games Limited. What can I do for you?"

"What packs would you say would boost an…ahem, 'Reptiless' deck most effectively, in your estimation?" he asked, while simultaneously holding Toby back from grabbing the dice hanging from Otogi's ears.

The man's initial confusion brightened considerably at this question, and with a confident grin he picked up a couple of small packages from the wall behind him. "Try to give these a roll," he answered, handing them over to the awkwardly gawking Misty. "One pack each of _Phantom Darkness_ and _Reign of Olympus,_ little lady – on the house."

"Th…Thank you," Misty sputtered, taking the proffered packs as Cronos pulled out his wallet to pay for the Structure Deck.

"Oh, don't mention it," Otogi tossed off nonchalantly. "It always warms my heart to see a good little child get rewarded with some sweet cards. She _has_ been a good little child, I take it?"

"Absolutely! I could not be prouder, no ne?" Cronos told him with a broad smile. "Signorina Misty here just aced her college entrance exams, all across the board!"

"_College_ entrance exams? Well then, I guess I owe you an apology for the 'little' comment, Misty-chan," quipped Otogi as he finished ringing up the sale – Misty flushed, but she did not argue. "Enjoy these, in any event – and don't be afraid to stop by again once you knock those college courses dead!"

He inclined his head to Cronos, who did likewise; later, as they were exiting the shop and returning to the former professor's aged-but-reliable car, Misty could hear him musing to himself, "Such a delightful man. Oh, if he had been just ten years younger, he'd have been a _perfect_ student…"

When they arrived home that day, Cronos had insisted on a practice duel; he had won, of course, but she thought she'd put up quite a decent fight for someone who had no clue what she was doing. Then they'd rematched again, and again, and again – Toby apparently not minding in the slightest, since the life-sized holograms produced by the Duel Disks they were using didn't exactly skimp on spectacle. Plus, his playful attempts to climb the leg of _Antique Gear Golem_ did wonders for distracting Cronos in their matches, an act for which Misty would attribute _all_ the credit once she finally won a round.

Misty wasn't exactly sure what to call what she felt at that moment, other than as the sum of its parts – that she had someone in her life that cared enough about her to introduce her to something he loved; or that her accomplishments were finally being met with pride and reasonable rewards rather than total disinterest; or Hell, that she was even able to have something in her life that didn't revolve _solely_ around Toby, without actually having to cut him out in any way.

No, she definitely didn't know what to call it. But she did know that the following day, when social services had come knocking and Cronos-sensei had decided to broach the subject, she hadn't hesitated in the least in requesting official adoption papers.

[-]

Now of course, while her life _did_ expand in quite a few new directions during her stay with Cronos de Medici (including the progression of her college career, a steadily increasing interest in dueling, and even some prospects she was beginning to dabble into within the modeling world, due to a chance meeting with some influential people at a recent tournament), Toby was still her number-one priority and always would be.

Fortunately, this didn't seem to bother Cronos-sensei too much (yet another reason why she liked him), as his patience with a child that still lacked the power of speech was evidently somewhat limited. It wasn't that he overtly steered away from Toby – far from it – but when it came to the…less glamorous elements of taking care of a four year-old, he was more than happy to step aside and allow Misty the room to do what she did best.

It was in roughly this arrangement that the three eventually settled: Cronos as the breadwinner (through speaking gigs and a book tour on his recently published guide to teaching dueling, not to mention his sizable pension) and caring-if-inept father-figure; Misty as the scholar and, by proxy if nothing else, homemaker; and Toby as the dependent. Unconventional? Misty would never deny it to be so…but it was certainly a marked improvement on her first thirteen years of life, so she hardly felt an urge to complain.

What she enjoyed most, however, was the simple fact that in this – the first thing she had ever really been able to call a family – no one was fully independent from anyone else. She spoke with her adoptive father (whom she still called "sensei," for no greater or lesser reason than that any other moniker just seemed jarring to her ears) quite often in the evenings, especially once Toby was safely off to bed, and it very soon became clear that what she was dealing with was a man whose heart experienced a gaping hole if he wasn't guiding the progress of young minds.

And the fascinating part of it – though she wasn't really certain how she could tell this, beyond a simple gut feeling – was that this was clearly a recent development. She wasn't about to pry into exactly _what_ had brought this need to care for children about so intensely, but she hoped perhaps he'd tell her on his own, someday.

"How are your studies going, Signorina Misty?" Cronos-sensei asked on one such evening, handing her a hot cup of freshly brewed tea. Her lip curled in bemusement as she blew delicately upon the steaming beverage; strange, wasn't it, how almost the exact same question could connote such different things, simply by being asked by someone who truly _cared_ for her?

"Extremely well, actually," Misty replied. "I've just begun reading Plato's _Republic_ for my classical political theory course. I've already finished it, of course…but it's fascinating to hear about it from a whole new perspective."

"This is the professor that allows you to watch his lectures through that…weird…internet…video-thingy, na no ne?" Cronos checked, evidently finding it prohibitively difficult to pronounce the word "Skype."

"Yes, he's been very understanding of my responsibilities to Toby," Misty answered genially, taking a tepid sip of her tea. Fortunately, it had turned out quite elegantly, and she thanked him for it.

"Oh, it was no trouble at all," said Cronos, waving away the expression of gratitude. Tapping his chin ponderously for a few moments, he then added, "Speaking of which, how is little Toby anyway? Is he adjusting well to life here? You always seem to know him so much better than I do, no ne…"

"He certainly likes you much more than he ever liked mother or father," Misty reflected truthfully. "He may not understand your…err, propensity for quizzes, but the additional stimulation does him good. What with all the additional exposure he's getting in preschool, I wouldn't be surprised if he finally takes to speaking any day now."

"I very much hope so," agreed Cronos with a nod. "I do wish it isn't causing him problems with the other students in the interim, though. Even at that young age, kids can be cruel, na no ne?"

Misty swallowed her current sip of tea a little too fast, and coughed loudly; in response, Cronos handed her a handkerchief with a speed that bordered on the superhuman. As she thanked him again, Misty swallowed and reflected back on a brief report the teacher had provided her last time she had gone to pick up Toby.

_Toby Lola is well-behaved and disciplined, if overly excitable and distractible,_ the note had read. _But his constant quietness disturbs the other children. Several students who have sat next to him during activities have complained of strange occurrences, and have demanded reseating._

_I recommend a greater effort put toward socializing Toby with other children his age, outside of the classroom setting. If he does not begin to learn how to talk within the near future, I also highly recommend that you look into options in special education._

The "strange occurrences" part was, unsurprisingly, what had bothered Misty the most. Toby's powers (or whatever one might call them) had appeared to have gone largely dormant since…that night, manifesting in little more than the occasional vibrating object or miniscule temperature changes in the air around him. But she hadn't been able to directly observe him while he'd been off making his first foray into the classroom – much as she'd have liked to – and so if he'd had some sort of "relapse" (for lack of a better term) then that was definitely a cause for alarm.

Misty stared at Cronos-sensei rather pensively for a few moments, and he appeared to notice, as he averted his eyes and adjusted his collar awkwardly. He'd proved himself eminently understanding over the past several months, hadn't he? Caring, reasonable, and trustworthy in the extreme?

But…well, as much as she'd opened up to the retired professor as of late – she hadn't sugarcoated any of the issues stemming from her own upbringing, and he'd tried his damndest to ease the ones that still lingered with wisdom and advice – this was one trigger she wasn't sure she could pull with _anyone_ anymore. Look at what had happened last time she had merely _phished_ for a favorable response, after all! And yet…

It was undeniable; if those on the "outside" were starting to take notice of Toby's…uniqueness, then this simply wasn't a burden she was capable of wielding on her own much longer. Meeting the gaze of evident concern that Cronos-sensei was now extending as the silence dragged on, Misty swallowed hard and murmured, "There's…something I want to tell you about Toby, actually. But you need to promise me that you'll hear me out on it. _Promise_ me."

"Of course. Why would I ever do otherwise, no ne?" responded Cronos, tenting his fingers.

"Well, see, the thing is…oh God, I'm _really_ not sure if I should say anything at all…" Misty sputtered, becoming quite frazzled as she continued to go back-and-forth on the issue within her head. In this state she felt a strange compulsion to check-in on the sleeping Toby, which she acted upon immediately; the fact that his blanket turned out to be shifting from blue to yellow and back in time with his breathing finally sealed the deal.

"Okay, Cronos-sensei, look…" she started again, closing the door to Toby's bedroom within moments of opening it. "Toby is…well, that is to say…he's sort of…"

"He isn't a vampire, is he?" Cronos cut in, shivering and making a rather weary face.

Misty burst out laughing at this one immediately, but when the expression didn't fade she scrunched her eyebrows together and in a much more sober tone, inquired, "You're…not really serious about that one, are you? I mean…everyone knows that vampires aren't…"

"I'm afraid I'll have to disagree with you there, Signorina Misty. Met one myself a while back, actually," Cronos related, shivering from head-to-toe once again. "Not a particularly…agreeable experience. But I suppose, looking back, that that probably has nothing whatsoever to do with what you were trying to explain in the first place, na no ne?"

Misty's eyes were practically bugging out of her skull – not merely at the revelation itself, but far moreso, the sheer _casualness_ with which it was being brought up – and she felt compelled to declare, "More than you might think, perhaps. But first, Cronos-sensei…is there anything else, err, 'like that' which you experienced in your life? Anything…_weird?_"

Cronos de Medici laughing was quite a rare sight, to the point where his hoarse, throaty guffaws in response to this query were simultaneously the most hilarious and the most disturbing things she had witnessed in recent years. Eventually he managed to get a hold of himself, though, and replied in highly amused tones, "You are kidding me, na no ne? I've seen ghosts, demons, alternate dimensions, evil alien globs of light that tried to blow up the Earth with a laser satellite…not to mention students who managed to graduate with honors despite sleeping through half their classes. Not much can surprise me now, Signorina Misty."

He chuckled a bit at this brief self-reflection, and groaned at the rest of it, before following his words up with, "So what is the relevance of this to your brother, no ne? Is he flying? Orange skin? Psychic powers? Dancing with…"

"That one!" Misty interjected, more loudly than she'd been intending. "Or, I guess that's one thing you could call it. I've never really seen anything like it…"

In lieu of further explanation, she motioned for Professor Cronos to peek inside of Toby's bedroom, where, in addition to the color-changing blanket, a plush toy was now levitating a few centimeters off the ground. Toby was smiling serenely in his slumber; if Misty had to guess, she'd wager heavily that he was currently engaged in a wonderful dream.

…And with that in mind, her eyes went wide with shock as he mumbled what was unmistakably the word "sister" and snuggled close to the doppelganger of her his subconscious must have been imagining.

Closing the door again, Misty turned back to her surrogate father, who wore an identical expression of utter stupefaction. The sources were probably distinct from each other (and it might have amused her, were she thinking more evenly, that she was far more surprised to hear Toby's first word than to observe him exhibiting superhuman abilities), but there was nevertheless an unspoken exchange between their expressions to the effect of "we tell no one of this."

"I should've known that retiring from Duel Academia wouldn't render my life sane again," Cronos mused with a cartoonishly long sigh. "But then, I suppose that after all these years, I really wouldn't know what to _do_ with a 'normal' life, na no ne? If people are products of their environment, then I'm certainly a product of abject strangeness by this point…"

The night largely ended there, for which Misty was incredibly grateful. Revealing Toby's powers had resulted in a big ball of awkwardness – that much was undeniable – but she far preferred awkwardness to outright rejection.

And after she had put all that out of her mind in anticipation of her own slumber, she'd finally had time to think about exactly _what_ Toby's first word had been, and with that knowledge in mind she slept quite peacefully.

[-]

Professor Cronos' general affectation toward Toby Lola – uneasy but accepting – did not change much as the child aged, though even as he began to speak and read and write (all a few years later than most children tended to learn, but not so much that further teachers ever seemed driven to raise alarm) both Cronos and Misty tacitly agreed that it was best he not be told directly of his powers. As it was they came and went, most often in response to dramatic shifts in the boy's present mood, and since neither had any idea how drastically those powers could expand if he gained conscious control over them they felt it best they put that prospect off as long as possible.

After all, potentially limitless mental might in the hands of a five year-old? Bad medicine indeed.

Misty, meanwhile, ended up graduating university a full year early, able to load up her course schedule as much as possible thanks to the extra time freed up by Toby being at school. Unfortunately, the job market for Classics majors was hardly an easy one, and she hadn't as-of-yet found a place where she could apply her present skills.

On the bright side, however, her modeling "side-career" (as she generally insisted on calling it) finally seemed like it was starting to go somewhere. While she'd have certainly preferred work that was a little more…_taxing_ on her mind, it was impossible to deny that at seventeen, she was an absolute bombshell. It hadn't been something she'd been _trying_ for, nor something she'd ever placed an inordinate amount of value in, but nevertheless she was hardly going to turn away from the opportunity to make some use of it.

She still hadn't managed to snag a shoot for anything more formal than a pet-food advertisement (but hey, at this age, she was going to take what she could get), but at least she'd gotten her hands on an agent after a couple years of less-than-fruitful searching. Mister White was a somewhat taciturn fellow, and she had to admit that his tendency to wear hoodies that constantly obscured half of his face unnerved her sometimes, but he got the job done well enough and that was really all she could ask for. Toby liked him a lot, it seemed, judging by how frequently Mister White showed up in his crude artworks…and Mister White in turn always made the effort to embrace Toby or bring him toys, even as he kept his interactions with Misty strictly professional. Which she supposed was worth _something,_ at least.

One such interaction happened to be taking place about a week before Misty's eighteenth birthday, as she and Mister White discussed at-length a possible opportunity in an upcoming "teen magazine" while Toby sat in a corner, playing with the model train the older gentleman had gifted him earlier that day.

"I do understand the stigma you are dreading, of course, but trust me when I say that this will help your résumé in the long-run rather than hurt it," argued Mister White, tightly clenching the jacket sleeves that matched his namesake hue.

"And you're _sure_ about that?" Misty pressed him, glancing shrewdly at the sample issue he had brought with him and grimacing at the glitzy inanity.

"My dear, I am sure about _everything,_" he answered with a small grin, chuckling low as if enjoying some secret joke.

"Then…alright," said Misty, sighing and proceeding to sign the paperwork he'd provided. "Anything else?"

"Oh, just a few things," Mister White replied, still smiling in a manner that caused Misty to shiver. "For one thing, I'll need to see your guardian and get a signature from him as well, seeing as you happen to still be a legal minor. And for another…"

For the first and last time in all the months she'd ever known him, the enigmatic manager lowered his hoodie, stripping the jacket off to reveal a crisp business suit in precisely the same shade.

What was disturbing about this act, however, was that it did _not_ finally expose his eyes to her. Rather, even when unconcealed, the top half of his face remained enshrouded in some inscrutable darkness…save it seemed, upon closer inspection, for two miniscule pinpoints of light, hidden deep within the shadows but growing ever-brighter the longer she stared into them.

Instinctively she moved to the side to shield Toby from his view, but try as she might she could not avert her gaze from the tiny beacons, which continued to expand wider and wider until her entire field of vision was consumed entirely by gleaming white, and the emitter of the energy spoke again.

"I have arranged for you to receive a new manager in the morning," Mister White told her, his delivery slow and deliberate. "He will be under the distinct impression that he has always _been_ your manager. You, my dear, will be under quite the same impression; indeed, the moment I exit this room you shall forget about my existence entirely."

Then he turned his attention to the diminutive figure of Toby, still drastically short for a boy of nine but no longer the dumb babe he'd been in mind for so many years. Nevertheless, the fixed gaze of the white-suited gentleman was just as effective at freezing him in place as it had been to his sister; the only difference was that an aura of power immediately burst to life around him, raw and twisting. Mister White chuckled throatily.

"Impressive, for a human boy. With a little more training, you might actually be able to resist me with that…but unhoned, a psychic aura means no more to me than a layer of mascara," he stated aloud, for no one's benefit but his own – after all, neither of these whelps would recognize him in less than ten minutes, and he would be free to depart and "arrange" the next great patch in the tapestry of destiny.

"But enough idle musing," Mister White went on, bending down to stare Toby Lola directly in the eye. "Now boy, listen well. As with your sister, all memories of me shall fade once our little…talk here is complete. But I have one addendum for you, child."

Picking up the model train from the floor, he held it up for Toby's observation and commanded, "You will keep this trinket in your bedroom at all times. If asked, you will explain that this trinket is a treasured heirloom of a departed friend. And when this trinket speaks to you on the morning of February 8, 2026…you will be prepared to listen. Goodbye, Misty and Toby Lola."

As a final parting "gift," Mister White proceeded to grasp the toy engine and, with a deep breath, funneled several tendrils of white vapor into its innards. Apparently satisfied, the faux-manager stood back up and walked calmly to the door…only for it to open on his face, revealing the tall figure of Cronos de Medici, laden with grocery bags.

"Who are…?" he began, the sentence fading away into nothing as he gazed around the room – first at his adoptive children, slumped over with blank eyes as their minds adjusted to the long-term memory erasure, and then at the man before him, whose half-face had lost its confident smirk for the first time that day.

"I did not see you coming, human. Why did I not see you coming?" he demanded, more of himself than of the stunned Professor Cronos, who had dropped the shopping bags out of shock. "We were, of course, fated to meet this day…but not here, and not for several hours yet. Unless…"

Completely ignoring Cronos as he rushed toward Misty and Toby and hurriedly took their pulses in turn, Mister White continued to mutter to himself, "Ah yes, that must be it. The signature is unmistakable. You've spent quite a bit of time around that blasted Supreme King, after all; it's really no wonder that a little bit of whatever blocks him from my sight rubbed off upon you."

"…Who _are_ you?" Cronos finally managed to finish, now that it was clear that Misty and Toby hadn't been physically harmed. "Were you the one who did this to my children?"

"As your species counts time, the answer to the former would take at least forty years to answer fully, so I shall focus on the latter," the white-suited gentleman responded simperingly. "In short, yes, they are currently catatonic because of my machinations, but do not fret – they shall be fully recovered in but a few minutes. The same, I am afraid, cannot be said for you."

"I swear, if you touch another hair on either of their heads…" warned Cronos, spreading out his arms to shield the unmoving children. None of his usual "quirkiness" escaped the expression he wore in that moment; while he still did not know the identity of this invader of his home, _this_ was precisely the reason he had taken in kids of his own in the first place, so soon after leaving the students of Duel Academia. Children needed defenders, and men like this needed someone to teach them lessons…the hard way, if necessary.

"What do you expect to do with me, exactly?" Mister White queried, tilting his head to the side in bemused interest. "Duel me? Fight me off with your bare hands? You may have been in close proximity to Judai Yuki for longer than most, but that hardly qualifies you to be a hero yourself. Now, why don't you run along – we have a schedule to keep in precisely four hours, nine minutes, and nineteen seconds, and I _detest_ being kept waiting."

Cronos, however, wasn't responding to any of these jibes; rather, he was staring deep into the overwhelming darkness that hid away the other man's eyes, and with their powers not currently being "active," he was able to keep control of his faculties long enough to gasp low in recognition. "I…know you…" he murmured, horror dawning across his face. "But…but you can't be…because that means…"

"Cease your babbling," Mister White ordered coldly, grasping Cronos tight by the throat and lifting him several feet. "I am weighing my options, and I do not appreciate the distraction of your useless prattling."

Cronos choked and sputtered, his arms flailing about until they caught the straps of the Duel Coat he was currently wearing and, in a desperate attempt to escape the other man's vice-like grip, released them.

For a plan improvised on the spur-of-the-moment, it worked quite well – the heavy mechanism detached from the former professor's jacket and crashed straight into Mister White's face, sending him back several feet and forcing him to release Cronos' neck.

"My inability to predict your course is fast becoming…irritating," he breathed dangerously, returning to his feet with the detached Duel Disk in his hands. To Cronos' dismay, there was not a scratch upon him.

Now truly incensed for perhaps the first time in decades, the man in white advanced upon the already-winded Italian, dissolving the Duel Disk into dust with a touch as he did. Unfortunately, Cronos was a teacher, not a fighter – and dropping the heaviest object he had on his person directly onto his opponent's face had been pretty much the full extent of his combative ingenuity.

This feeling of despondency was quite short-lived, however…because a moment later he happened to look back at Misty's and Toby's limp forms, and with renewed resolve, he stepped back up to face the intruder.

"I don't know why you've returned; I don't even know why you're still _alive,_" said Cronos, fists clenched tight. "And you know what? I don't care. Because I do know one thing: you _are_ going to leave."

"Mortal, you have long-since passed the threshold of my amusement," Mister White shot back, not breaking stride as the two men continued to slowly approach one another. "And while you would normally be safe until the moment I am destined to kill you – four hours, six minutes, and forty-seven seconds as of now – I think it has been demonstrated quite thoroughly that we've crossed into one of fate's little 'blind spots.' Nothing prevents me from snatching away your life right this instant."

"Then I suppose I have nothing to lose," Cronos spat, and that was when the first punch flew.

The former professor's technique was wild and clumsy, but at close-quarters such as these that didn't prevent the vast majority of his blows from connecting, eventually forcing Mister White to catch each of his fists in his gloved palms and, with one swift motion, shatter them utterly. This was followed almost immediately by the man in white's own fist, which sent Cronos flying across the room.

"To challenge _me,_ in full knowledge of my true nature…or at least, as close to full knowledge as you humans have ever approached. If I valued bravery in any way, I would commend you," whispered Mister White as he bent downward, speaking softly into Cronos' ear even as he painfully twisted off one of his arms. "But unfortunately for you, I do not. All it means now is that your death will be _far_ more painful than it might otherwise have been."

The white-suited gentleman punctuated this by effortlessly cracking several of Cronos' ribs, and the wrinkled former professor spent the next several moments choking-up blood, trying and failing to speak several times as his body writhed in blinding pain. Finally, he managed to utter a barely audible, "Please, don't…don't hurt them…"

"Is that what all this irritating obstinacy was about?" Mister White replied callously, contorting his face into an expression that might have involved a rolling of the eyes – with only half of a face, it was hard to tell. "In that case, I shall indulge you in your final moments. No, I do not intend to kill either of your…'children' at any point in the future, near or distant."

Smiling again as Cronos' blood-soaked face briefly brightened at this news, he then swiftly added, "Of course, that isn't to say that both of them won't be dead by the time their roles in your world's grander destiny are fulfilled. _I_ simply won't be the one pulling the trigger."

Mister White gave him a moment for the full effect of that statement to sink in, and once he was satisfied with the expression of pure, broken horror on the meddling interloper's face, smashed his ribcage with his heel.

"Well, this operation was certainly…messier than I was intending for it to be," commented the man in white, snapping his fingers a few times to reset the room back into order. "But at least it's all finally done, and with time to spare."

His attentions than turned to the bloody mass that had just moments ago been Cronos de Medici, and he grimaced slightly; with this having been his first opportunity in quite a while to engage in "physical activity," he'd evidently gotten a little carried away with shutting up the impertinent mortal, fun as it had been. But that was no great matter; one more snap and the bones, blood, and sinew came back together good-as-new, leaving a dead but still perfectly intact corpse for the children to find later.

"One last thing: Cronos de Medici suffered a heart attack and perished while the two of you were away from home," he told the still-unconscious Misty and Toby Lola, completing the façade. "You were informed of this by a trustworthy medical professional, and so an autopsy will not be necessary. You will grieve in the manners you each see fit."

For one last time, Mister White laughed low and cold, pleased that matters here had proceeded relatively well despite the multiple unforeseen setbacks. Then he snapped his fingers once more, and where he had once stood there was only the cold corpse of Cronos de Medici, his pale skin tinged with the overwhelming scent of sulfur.

[-]

The funeral was small, but heartfelt; most of the attendees were former students or staff of Duel Academia, along with a smattering of business associates. The present administration of Academia Island had apparently been unable to secure the necessary time-off for the trip, but had sent flowers and their condolences.

Misty, for her part, didn't pay much attention; for the second time in her life a parental figure had been wrenched from her within the space of a night, and she had loved _this_ one deeply. She hadn't even noticed when she'd bumped into a brunette man with a crimson jacket, so absorbed was she in her fresh sensations of loss.

Indeed, it was taking all her mental fortitude merely to stay standing, for Toby's sake – he appeared to have shut down completely, carrying around a toy engine and holding it close to his chest throughout the processions, and she needed to show strength to him if she wanted to keep the poor child sane. After all, she hadn't yet seen the effect that grief might have on Toby's powers, and finding out the hard way wasn't a risk she was willing to take around so many people.

The following days had involved a whole lot of paperwork and time spent with Cronos-sensei's lawyer. At seventeen-going-on-eighteen she wasn't going to be above the age of majority for two years yet, but her manager (a rather amicable fellow named Mister Ginger, who had quite a knack for always coming through for her in a pinch) had worked with the attorney to argue a strong case to the Equal Employment, Children, and Families Bureau that she was capable of acting as Toby's primary caregiver. Cronos-sensei had willed her a sizable inheritance and her modeling career was finally beginning to stabilize, which, taken with the clear maturity evidenced by her early acquisition of a college degree, had convinced the bureaucrats that she would provide a better home for her brother than any new foster parent would.

They had decided to remain in Cronos-sensei's apartment for the time being; it was spacious and well-within their present budget, and although Misty had initially been a little worried that Toby might be disturbed by the hanging specter of their surrogate father's death, sitting around the room in which Cronos-sensei had died seemed to actually make the boy seem…peaceful.

It was a morbidly curious sight, but it was far-preferred to Toby bringing down the building with a sudden burst of psychic fury, so Misty didn't question it.

Still, the frequency with which the child had now taken to sitting in Cronos-sensei's old chair and staring at (apparently) nothing for hours on-end, doing little else but clench that damned toy train, was starting to worry her a little bit. It was on one such night that Misty sat down next to her brother, offered him a cup of tea which he politely waved away, and said, "I miss him too, you know. It's…okay to talk to me about it."

Instead of responding to this directly, however, Toby looked up at his sister with slightly puffy eyes and hugged her tight. "Did it feel like this for you," he eventually asked, somewhat throatily, "when mom and dad died?"

Misty involuntarily flinched. Like the existence of the powers that had caused them, she (and Cronos-sensei as well, at least tacitly) had decided a fair while ago that the precise nature of her parents' fates was a detail of which Toby was best kept in the dark. Though no sane person would've been capable of blaming him for it, she knew Toby well enough to know that _he_ would have done so…and that was a burden she could never ask him to shoulder in good conscience.

Speaking of which…

"It's my fault he's dead," Toby declared hollowly.

"It was a _heart attack,_ Toby. There's nothing either of us could have done," Misty argued, continuing to embrace him.

"But at least you had an excuse!" Toby exclaimed, wrenching himself out of the hold. "You had work that day, but I…I can't even _remember_ where I was! Think about that for a second: my father dies, and I'm off somewhere I can't freaking remember a week later! At least if I was a home that day, I…"

He broke down here, tears streaming from his eyes. "…At least I could have said goodbye," he finished, turning away from her as the sobs increased in intensity.

"Toby…Toby, please…" Misty attempted to console him, but he shrugged her off. "Come on, please. I'm here for you; I'll _always_ be here for you…"

"_Will_ you?" Toby suddenly demanded, the tears abating for the moment even as the remainder of his face contorted in distress. "Mom, dad, Cronos-sensei…everyone around me ends up dead, sooner or later. What if you're next, sis? What if…?"

"Shhh…" Misty cut across him. "Calm down, Toby. I'm not going anywhere. So long as you draw breath, so will I – that is our bond."

"Do…do you promise?" Toby blubbered, wiping one his eyes with his sleeve.

"I promise," Misty responded, meaning every word.

[-]

When Misty Lola looked back upon the seven years that followed Cronos-sensei's death – and she would spend the time following her own demise doing little else – she tended to see it far more as a collection of disparate events than as one continuous narrative.

She would remember helping Toby blow out the candles on his tenth birthday cake, the sole invitee to both that party and all that would follow it.

She would remember dropping him off at school on the way to a photo shoot and, upon hearing another student deride her brother as a "faggot-ass retard," jumping right out after him in order to deliver the bully a…stern talking-to.

She would remember attempting to teach him cooking and a few other things she'd had to become self-sufficient at over the years, out of necessity if nothing else – he'd been a poor talent for the art, perhaps, but always an eager student.

She would remember dueling and dancing, football games and karaoke, sitting out in the park with their feet uncovered in the summertime and throwing snowballs at each other in the winter. Helping him out with his homework, sharing large piles of fried chicken over the holidays, going out for ice cream as a special treat whenever his grades went up…

Most of all, however, she remembered a particular conversation they'd had shortly after he'd turned fourteen.

"Sis…can I ask you something?" he opened, pulling up a chair on the kitchen table as she finished drizzling sauce upon her freshly fried platter of takoyaki. She did a mental double-take on his presence for a moment, being that it was just past noon…but then she remembered that this was the month he had off for summer vacation, and so offered him the snack with a smile.

"Of course, Toby. Anything," she told him brightly.

Taking one ball and popping it in his mouth (with his index finger and pinkie, as he was wont to do when nervous), he sighed low as if steeling himself for something and then asked, "Why can I do stuff other people can't?"

"I'm…not sure what you mean by that, Toby," Misty answered, not altogether truthfully. As the boy had grown older and wiser, she'd been firmly in denial over the inevitability of this day. That is, if he even _was_ talking about what she had a bad feeling he was talking about…

Toby took the opportunity to remove all doubt from her mind, however, by grimacing as he pointed to one of the battered snacks and sent it flying a meter in the air. "_That's_ what I mean," Toby murmured, burying his face in his hands immediately after he did.

"When…when did you find out about that?" Misty blurted out without thinking.

"Well, I…hey, wait," said Toby, switching gear mid-sentence as his eyes widened in realization over her precise wording. "You knew about this already, didn't you? And never bothered to _tell_ me?"

Misty opened her mouth, but no sound came out; she'd never been able to lie to Toby easily, and she was quite sure that her present state of mind was written all over her face. So instead she merely sighed as well and responded, in a very small voice, "Yes…I knew."

"So how long, then? How long have you been going behind my back with the fact that I'm some kind of…of freak?" Toby bellowed, grabbing the front of her shirt and shaking it a bit.

"Toby! You're not…I mean…don't _say_ that kind of thing about yourself!" Misty cried out, somewhat frenetically. As much as part of her had always known that this day was coming, she was feeling remarkably unprepared for it.

"Answer the question, sis," Toby insisted, narrowing his eyes.

Misty bit her lip, blinking uncomfortably at the increasingly irate teenager, before uttering in a register barely over a whisper, "Most…most of your life, Toby. Ever since you were a baby, you've always been able to do that kind of stuff. It's just come-and-gone, that's all."

"…But you've got to understand!" she added anxiously, as his face contorted in the horror that accompanied betrayal. "Cronos-sensei and I were always planning on telling you once you were old enough to control your powers responsibly, but then he died and…and everything's just been so…"

Misty couldn't come up with a suitable way to complete that sentence, so it just hung in the air as Toby reached for another ball and swallowed it whole, more to fill the silence than anything else. Eventually, however, he asked in much quieter tones, "So he knew about this too, then? What…what'd he think?"

"He said, and I quote, that his life 'was a product of abject strangeness' and that nothing could shock him anymore," Misty recalled, a sort of sad smile playing on her lips. "Toby, he loved you and he accepted you. _I_ love and accept you. You should do the same."

"I'd agree with you, onee-chan, if there was a single other person like me out there," Toby rejoined bitterly. "Do the math – if there's just one guy on Earth who can toss shit around with his mind, he's a freak."

"But that's just it, Toby!" Misty exclaimed. "Cronos-sensei mentioned others he had met, demons and aliens and vampires and things…"

"Vampires? _Seriously?_" Toby questioned with raised eyebrows.

"My precise reaction, I assure you," stated Misty. "But whether or not you buy _all_ of that, he knew exactly what to call what you can do: psychic powers. And there're other people who have come forward about similar abilities; I know, I've checked. Yes, some of them are likely frauds, but others…"

"Yeah…I guess, then. Maybe…" Toby muttered, only the slightest bit of hope creeping into his wider tone of dejection. "Look, I'm sorry for taking all this out on you at once – it's just that pretty much my entire life has changed within a couple of days. I mean," and here he chuckled nervously in-spite-of-himself, "can you imagine how I first felt when I tried to grab the TV remote yesterday and it flew across the room? It took maybe an hour to get it down on command once I knew I could do it."

"Probably the same way I felt when I first saw you unconsciously changing the colors of your blankets or lowering the temperature of your bedroom," Misty replied, now sporting a very small, almost wistful smile.

Neither of them said anything for a few moments after that, instead busying themselves with finishing off the takoyaki. Eventually however, as Misty began to wash the platter off in the sink, Toby clenched his teeth and proceeded to ask, "Hey sis…you know how I was going on a few months ago about how cool it'd be to be a famous explorer?"

"…Vaguely," Misty quipped, smiling a little more broadly; after buying that wilderness survival book for him on a whim a while back, she'd spent a full week or two being verbally deluged by what sounded like its entire contents. "What of it?"

"Well, after we talked, I thought about it a bit more and decided it'd be silly to go off exploring 'uncharted lands' or any crap like that in the twenty-first century," he explained. "But these powers, or whatever you wanna call them…they've given me a lot more to think about. If I can do _this_ much with just a day or two of experimenting, well…maybe there's something bigger I could be doing with my life."

As he spoke these words, the teenager's mannerisms gradually became more and more excited, until finally the anxiety in his tones had faded entirely, replaced instead by a sort of feverish zeal. "Just think, onee-chan!" he cried out, multicolored sparks flying from his fingertips as his enthusiasm rose. "So many problems in the world – people dying, children missing, villages starving – that I could solve, just by being there! I'd be like…like a superhero!"

"Err…don't you think you're getting a little ahead of yourself, Toby?" Misty responded after a few beats of silence. "I mean, I know what you can do right now is impressive, but…"

"That's just it, though!" Toby argued back. "If I started traveling the world, meeting new people, training hard to use these powers for something really great…Hell, maybe I'd even run into some of those 'others' you said Cronos-sensei mentioned! I've got it now – the point of my life! My destiny! My _purpose!_"

"Well…maybe…" said Misty, unsure of whether or not to be happy with his fairly sudden shift in demeanor. But then, celebrating his abilities was a far cry better than hanging his head in shame of them, she supposed…

"I just wish that it was easier to find others like me, ya know?" Toby continued to muse. "It'd be cool if we had – I dunno – a support group, or some crap like that. Telekinetics Anonymous or something, am I right?"

He chuckled quite a bit at this notion; Misty did not.

One would think, given that day's events, that she would have learned that keeping secrets from Toby would only hurt him in the long run. But the consequences of failing to inform the teenager of his burgeoning powers had been remarkably short-lived, and indeed he would _never_ come to learn of his role in their parents' "passing," to apparently no ill effect. So there was really no reason whatsoever for her to learn her lesson that day, in retrospect.

Still, she would regret until her dying day – and in fact, well beyond it – that she did not take that opportunity to inform Toby of just such a "support group" she had discovered in her years of casual and not-so-casual research, to warn him away from it if nothing else. Instead he was left to discover the organization for himself, with no knowledge whatsoever of the horror stories floating around the back-alleys of the internet, straight from former staff and students alike…

Those two unholy words…

[-]

_**Arcadia Movement Exonerated by Security in Latest Investigation**_

_By Angela Rains_

_February 8, 2026_

_The investigation of the brutal murders of three college-age girls in December, the tenth of which to implicate the lobbying group and support center Arcadia Movement, LLC in just under a year, concluded yesterday with no useful information._

_The Public Security Maintenance Bureau could not be reached for comment, but Arcadia's President and Chief Executive Officer, under the alias "Divine," had this to say…_

"Onee-chan!" called out an excited voice from the other side of Misty's bedroom door, followed swiftly by a lad of sixteen, still bedecked in his crisp school uniform. "Onee-chan!"

"Toby!" Misty answered back with a smile, putting down the newspaper and attempting to clear her mind of the ugliness contained within for the moment.

"Here you go," Toby went on, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a small box. "It's your birthday present!"

"Oh, my! Thank you, Toby!" Misty responded brightly, taking the box and shaking it a little bit – more to elicit a giggle out of her brother than anything else. "Can I open it?"

Toby nodded, and so without further ado Misty pulled up on the box's hinges and peeked inside.

The gift was, it turned out, a musical locket…and even with just the placeholder image inside, the sheer craftsmanship was inarguable. "It's lovely; thank you," she told him, clasping it briefly between her palms before slipping the thin gold chain around her neck. "I'll put in a picture of you and treasure it, okay?"

Toby laughed lightly in response while accepting her proffered embrace, but she could tell by the slight fidgeting in his overall demeanor that her present hadn't been the only reason he had wanted to speak with her today. "Oh, that's right, onee-chan!" he exclaimed, confirming her hypothesis. "I met another person with the same powers I have!"

"With the same powers as you?" Misty repeated, her face tensing in suspicion.

"Yep!" said Toby, his face positively beaming. "Her name is Aki Izayoi. I bet she's the most skilled psychic in the whole Arcadia Movement!"

That was _not_ what Misty had been hoping to hear. "The Arcadia Movement…?" she repeated again, her tone doing all the job her words couldn't in conveying her reaction to this piece of news.

"Hey, don't get the wrong idea!" Toby added, growing immediately defensive. "It's not the kind of place everyone seems to think, sis! I want my powers to benefit everyone…and Master Divine has promised to help me do just that!"

"_Master_ Divine?" Misty questioned incredulously, one uncomfortable eye glancing back to the unfinished article now lying upon the coffee table. "Why do you call him that?"

"It's just a sign of respect, sis. Nothing more than that," Toby explained, sounding almost as if he was _pleading_ with her to understand this point. "Every person in the Movement owes their life to Master Divine – he's who I wanna be, someday. A selfless soul who brings together outcasts from all walks of life and unites them in a common purpose: the betterment of all mankind."

"But how did you even _find out_ about these guys?" Misty pressed on, hoping that her word choice wouldn't give her away this time.

"I…I'm not really sure, to be honest," Toby admitted, shrugging broadly. "I just woke up this morning, and somehow, I _knew…_"

"And you don't find that at all…suspect?" asked Misty, lightly grasping one of his arms.

"You'd understand if you could meet him, onee-chan," Toby maintained, his fists clenched in sheer enthusiasm. "Maybe my sleeping mind just picked up a psychic signal from one of the workers there, or something. But does it really matter? Point is, I've finally found others like me, after all this time! And they're all so friendly, and kind, and strong…"

"So…is that where you were all this morning?" Misty interjected, trying a different tact for the moment.

"Yeah, that's right. I'm sorry for missing part of your birthday, but I knew you'd be out working most of the day…" Toby replied, shuffling his feet guiltily. "Definitely an eye-opening couple of hours, though."

"Can you…describe it for me, then?" Misty inquired delicately.

"Oh, sure!" Toby shouted out, probably under the impression that he was finally starting to bring her around. "They have this great big tower – you know the one, over near all those cafés – and it's packed with pretty much everything a person like me could ever need. Classrooms and training centers, a huge library, a couple residence halls…plus a _huge_ dueling ring, of course."

"And that's where you saw…?" Misty checked, the utter joy in his voice sending a chill down her spine.

"Yep, Aki Izayoi!" Toby confirmed. "She dueled ten people in a row, and beat every single one in three turns or less! Oh God, you should've seen the way she handled her Synchro Summons…"

He was actually blushing a little as he related these details, but nonetheless he continued, "Anyway, right after all the dueling was done, I came up to her and asked if there was anything I could do to be more like her. And so Aki-san just looks down and says, 'Divine will tell you how; just do as Divine tells you.' So…well, I figured a guy as busy as him wouldn't be able to see me just like that, but I went to his office and his door was open, and his secretary told me that I should just go right in. And Aki-san was totally right – Master Divine was _so_ cool! He performed some limited clairvoyance for me, and that's supposed to be hard as Hell even for regular psychics. He and Aki-san are really on a whole 'nother level."

"And what did you _learn_ through this…'clairvoyance'?" Misty demanded, a little more forcefully than she had been intending. But the amount of extolment her little brother was lapping upon these people was making it harder and harder for her to respond with calmness and understanding.

"What else? That he foresaw me joining the Arcadia Movement next week," stated Toby, rather matter-of-factly. "And you know what? I think he's right."

"Wait, _what?_" Misty yelled out, taking a step back. "To go and check out an organization like that is one thing, but to consider _joining_ them…"

"Well, why not?" Toby shot back, looking confused. "Master Divine heard out all my ideas about what I could be doing with my life, and he's gonna do whatever he can to make them a reality! He's already promised to get me in contact with some of his agents in Africa and the Middle East; just think, I could actually be saving people's _lives_ with my powers in a couple of months!"

"There's nothing wrong with wanting to help people, of course," Misty attempted to assure him. "But are you really so sure you want to do it by getting mixed up with people like…like _that?_"

"You've probably just been reading too much anti-psychic propaganda. Master Divine says it's everywhere," said Toby dismissively. "People fear what we can do, so they make up stupid stories about us committing crimes or whatever. But Master Divine and Aki-san aren't like that; no one in the Movement is. These are my _people,_ sis…and I trust them all."

"Come on, Toby, see reason," Misty implored, starting to grow a little short with the stubborn teenager. "The Arcadia Movement is bad news, and you should be staying the Hell away from them if you care at all about your own safety. I should know, I've done the research."

"Sis, you just can't…wait a minute," Toby interrupted himself, and Misty blanched as she was vividly reminded of the last time he'd extended that same betrayed look her way. "Why would you have done research on the Movement _before_ I ever brought it up? Unless…"

His face looked quite conflicted as he softly spoke these words, part of it contorting in heavy suspicion and the other seemingly ashamed for even carrying such suspicions in the first place. Apparently the former eventually won out, however, as a few moments later he struck out a palm and gazed intently at his sister's eyes, his own beginning to radiate with power. "You _did_ know," he hissed, his voice teeming with disbelief. "You knew exactly where there were others like me out in the world, and you never told me. And don't try to deny it, sis; I can see everything."

"You can…you can read my mind?" Misty couldn't help but ask, even as she tried – and rather distressingly, _failed_ – to avert her gaze from his. "But that's…that's…"

"…Only a small sample of what I could do as part of the Movement," Toby finished for her, his tones growing increasingly resentful. "But you're no stranger to reeling in my potential, are you? Nah, now that I'm actually peeking in here for the first time, it's all starting to make some fucking _sense…_"

"Toby, that's enough of this!" Misty ordered, the amount of sheer _violation_ she was feeling right now dramatically lowering her patience. "You're never going near the Arcadia Building again, nor any of its members. And that is _final!_"

"You think you could stop me if I really _tried,_ sis?" Toby retorted. "I could probably kill you with a thought if I wanted to, you know. But I would never do anything like _that_, of course," he added hastily, "since despite everything, you're still my sister and I still love you."

Then his eyes narrowed as he appended, "I'm just wondering right now whether or not that feeling is truly mutual."

"I…wait, _what?_" Misty exclaimed, momentarily rendered speechless from shock. "Of course I love you! If you insist on digging through my brain like this, you might as well grab all the evidence that tells you _that,_ at least!"

"Oh, I know you _think_ you love me, sis," Toby countered, now holding back tears. "Hell, I believed it myself until about ten seconds ago. But you know what? I'm starting to think I'm just an annoying little kid with freaky magic powers to you. All my life, you've babied me and coddled me; never once treating me as an equal. For 'my own good' you lie to me, keep secrets from me, go behind my back…that isn't fucking love!"

"I…I just want to keep you safe, that's all…" Misty murmured, tears beginning to well up in her eyes as well.

"But at the price of _what,_ huh?" Toby practically screamed, the very air shaking a bit as the power he had summoned earlier to scan her mind flared back up again. "Here I have a perfectly good opportunity to go out and live my dreams, fulfill my destiny…and you go and stamp it out, just like that? With mom and dad, with Cronos-sensei, with just the two of us, it doesn't matter…you've _never_ really respected me, or what I was capable of. God, would you prefer it if I never even _had_ these fucking powers?"

"…I don't know how to answer that," Misty eventually mumbled in a very small voice, unable to look her baby brother in the eye. As much as he was dead-wrong about her not loving him, his other allegations were succeeding rather well at hitting…close to home.

Toby, however, looked as if he had just been slapped in the face. "I think you just did," he uttered throatily, before tossing out an explosion of raw psychic energy that incinerated a nearby vase and tearing straight out the door, fresh teardrops flying behind him.

[-]

"Alright, now just tilt your head a smidge to the left, 'kay darling?" requested the photographer, and without really paying much attention Misty Lola obliged. This was the last set of photos she needed to take this evening, and the sooner she got out of here the sooner she could track down Toby and start trying to make amends.

Since their…altercation on her birthday, Toby had apparently decided to disappear completely, answering none of her calls or texts or e-mails. His room and stuff were undisturbed, so Misty was pretty sure he wasn't just sneaking around and avoiding her; the only possible conclusion, unfortunately, was that he'd gone to live at the Arcadia Building for the time being. He _had_ mentioned residence halls there, after all…

As such, she _really_ hadn't wanted to perform a shoot right now, but she had her obligations; Mister Ginger had managed to acquire her a few pages in _Vogue,_ and that was an opportunity no model on Earth could afford to turn down, regardless of her present situation. While at twenty-five she had already made a decent name for herself within Japan, this was the gig that could propel her onto the world stage and beyond.

"Hmm…yeah, I think we've got all we need. We'll be in touch, Miss Lola," said another one of the _Vogue_ team, rapidly typing out a message to his editor on his handheld. Sighing in relief, she bowed and shook hands as quickly as possible without coming across as rude and then bolted from the studio, flipping open her phone to see if Toby had returned any of her twenty messages yet.

To her surprise, however, what waited for her _was_ a message…but not from Toby. The sender, instead, was the Public Security Maintenance Bureau.

Listening to the message provided little more illumination than the identity of the caller had – all that had been left on her phone, around two hours prior, was a callback number and a case ID. As such, she spent the next thirty minutes or so on hold, occasionally speaking to one receptionist or another for a few seconds before getting transferred to yet another department. Clearly, she internally mused, the current Director's promise to streamline the police force like a business had gone horribly awry somewhere down the line.

Finally, however, she managed to reach an off-duty officer who was, she guessed, putting in some unpaid overtime to make up for this utter quagmire of a phone system. "This is Officer Soichi Kazama, with the Department of Special Investigations," read out a light male voice; he didn't sound much older than she was. "How can I help you?"

"I'm just trying to return a message I received at 18:49 this evening," she repeated for the fifth time in the past hour. "The caller was a Miss Mikage Sagiri, and the case ID given to me was 52-7384."

"Alright, I think Miss Sagiri left the notes for that case on Tetsu's desk…just give me a sec…" answered the officer, and Misty could overhear him shuffling through a large number of papers as he searched for the one that, somehow, must have involved her in some way.

There was a long pause – during which, Misty guessed, he was reading the enigmatic case notes – before Officer Kazama came back on the line, sounding rather more somber than before. "Ma'am, are you related to a Toby Lola in any way?" he asked.

"He's my little brother, and legal dependent," Misty told him, instantly growing worried. "Why? Has something happened to him?"

Another pause. "Well…ma'am, this isn't the kind of thing that I prefer to say over the phone, but I guess we don't really have much of a choice," replied Officer Kazama, sounding as if he was choosing his words very carefully. "You…may want to sit down."

Misty did not comply with this suggestion, too engrossed in her rising feelings of panic to bother…but she felt quite thoroughly as if she should've when the officer proceeded to inform her, "There's no easy way to tell you this, but…your brother's body was found in the Daimon Area downtown earlier today. He's dead, ma'am. I'm so sorry."

That Misty managed not to drop the phone was an impressive accomplishment; if anything, it seemed as if she'd been rendered so completely stunned by the officer's words that even _expressing_ her shock was beyond her present capabilities. Every inch of her body frozen in place, she stayed on the line for about a minute longer, hearing various other details such as the estimated time of death and the lack of evidence pointing to a clear cause. Numbly, she took it all in, until finally Officer Kazama gave her instructions on what she needed to take care of vis-à-vis paperwork and such, and concluded with another expression of utmost sympathy.

More-or-less operating on autopilot, Misty heard herself thank him and then hung up before entering her car, locking the door behind her, and weeping softly for about an hour.

Part of her brain was having trouble even processing the news she'd just been dealt, but another, far more influential one could instinctively determine its veracity. Misty had no idea _how,_ nor did she at all want to…but she knew for certain that everything the officer had just told her was the cold, hard truth.

She'd envisioned this day, on occasion, in her very worst nightmares, but her vague imaginations seemed so utterly ephemeral in the face of the real thing. There were some realities so harsh that, unless confronted with them directly, could simply not be comprehended; the sinking realizations that she would never again touch Toby's hand, or hear his voice, or buy him those little chocolate bon-bons he loved so much for when he got sad or lonely.

Had he merely ran away permanently to join Arcadia – as she'd been dreading in the back of her mind for the past few days – Misty wouldn't exactly have been _happy_ per say, but at the very least she would've been assured of his continued safety. Reconciliation between them, and apologies for the mistakes she'd made, might not have come easy…but they still would've been _possibilities,_ somewhere down the line.

She continued to weep.

[-]

If it ever occurred to Misty that a fashion studio parking lot probably wasn't the best place to completely shut down in a sea of grief, then it clearly wasn't affecting her actions. This was the place where all the meaning she had ever felt in her life had withered to nothing, so what point was there in moving?

Ultimately, however, it hadn't ended up being her decision. The parking lot closed at 23:00 sharp, and though the security guard had appeared amenable to her obvious distress when he came around to check her car, he'd been emphatic about his inability to make an exception. As such, she was back out on the road less than an hour after the phone call that had killed her in every sense of the word but the literal, but she supposed it couldn't be helped. Driving was a fairly automatic thing this late at night, after all…

Sitting or standing, driving or eating or working – it was all the same to her at this point. Without Toby, life blended into a useless gray mess…and soon enough, so did the road and the night sky.

_Sis, you feeling alright?_

"T…Toby?" breathed Misty, unable to believe what she had clearly just heard.

_Sis, it's going to be okay. We're going to play again real soon. We'll be together forever and ever._

"Then…then you forgive me? For everything?" Misty asked of the hallucination.

_Everything, onee-chan. Everything…_

"Everything…" Misty repeated blissfully, closing her eyes briefly as the wind rushed across her face.

She never even saw the guardrail.

[-]

"She's critical! We need to prep the OR, _now!_" screamed an intern as several orderlies wheeled the body of Misty Lola into the Intensive Care ward, heavy towels being used at various points along her skin to stem the systemic bleeding.

"Kid, I've seen quite a few other patients in this girl's condition," the attending physician told him disinterestedly. "There's nothing we can do at this point, so let's not waste the time."

"But Doctor Goat!" protested the intern. "I know a specialist; one of my professors from med school! He's got a clinic in Satellite right now, but if we sent a copter over immediately…"

"You talking about that hack Lewis Schmitt? I told you, I don't want to waste time," Doctor Richard Goat replied with a roll of the eyes. "Besides, you know Security policy. Grabbing _anyone_ from the Satellite would mean my ass if we got caught, and I'm not risking that on any one patient."

"But…but she…" the intern continued to plead, though he seemed to realize soon enough that it was a lost cause. So instead he and the orderlies did their best to plug-up the bleeding, hooked Misty up to a breathing machine, and hoped for the best…but all of them knew there was little they could do at this point but try to make her passing as peaceful as possible.

Misty, for her part, felt no pain. She was, vaguely, aware that she was dying, but what remained of her rapidly fading mind regarded that fact with less trepidation or panic than a simple, numb detachment. Perhaps she'd have felt differently on any other day, but as of now there was so very little death could take from her that she had not already lost.

Would she see Toby again, after all this was said and done? That was the only question occupying Misty's thoughts as she slowly slipped into oblivion. She'd never been a particularly spiritual person, and her impending demise didn't appear to be affecting that perspective sharply one way or the other, but…well, she supposed she'd find out soon enough. Or not.

_But why settle merely for reunion with your brother's spirit, when you could instead revenge his demise?_

The voice was loud and booming, but with a distinct edge to it, like a hiss. It was also impersonal, which could only be said to be disconcerting; even her earlier hallucination of Toby had at least come with a facsimile of his body as well as his words.

_I am not a hallucination, Misty Lola. I am a God._

Misty did not answer this assertion; in this dim and endless blackness that had surrounded her ever since blood loss from the brain had robbed her of her sight, she wasn't even sure if she could speak at all.

_Yes, Misty Lola…you may speak. This is a realm of the mind and the spirit, not confined to the bothersome restrictions of mortality._

Testing these statements with the same detachment she had afforded toward everything else in this "place," Misty soon found that indeed, speech here required only that she _believe_ she be able to speak. The same went for vision, though she regretted deciding that she should be able to see the very instant she had done so, considering the sight greeting her newly reawakened eyes was a skyscraper-sized lizard, its massive tongue lapping back-and-forth with unmistakable hunger.

_You do not fear Me. An unusual reaction for a mortal, I must say…but encouraging. I knew that I chose well._

"I simply have no fear left within me to express," Misty intoned flatly. "Only sorrow remains."

_And rage?_

"No," said Misty, completely deadpan.

_Then your priorities are skewed, Misty Lola. Vengeance was the greatest invention your species ever produced on this Earth; it would be a shame not to exercise it when the opportunity is so very ripe._

"What…what do you mean by that?" Misty asked, her facial expression changing for the first time since she and her car had hit the water.

_Your brother mentioned her name, several times. He was in awe of her, inspired by her…willing to do _anything_ to witness her power in action…_

Then, as if in demonstration, the enormous lizard extended its tongue to its utmost, ranging perhaps thirty meters and flowing about Misty in a swirling spiral of pitch-black. And upon the appendage, flickers of what looked like television static began to appear, echoes of some broadcast Misty might've seen ages ago surrounding her.

"_**Massive property damage struck the Daimon Area once again…"**_

"_**Illegal street-dueling…"**_

"_**Security baffled…"**_

"_**Witnesses reporting an unbeaten female duelist calling herself the Black Rose Witch…"**_

"_**The Black Rose Witch…"**_

"_**The Black Rose Witch…"**_

"_**The Black Rose Witch…"**_

"The Daimon Area…" Misty whispered, realization dawning within the dim recesses of what remained of her mind. "Then this 'Black Rose Witch,' she…?"

_I have already given you every hint necessary to determine the Witch's identity, Misty Lola. As well as the horrific deed she has exacted this day._

"Aki…Izayoi…" Misty pronounced through clenched teeth, finally understanding. "A psychic duelist…_that_ was why Security couldn't figure out a cause of death…"

_Indeed. She has taken your brother from you, Misty Lola – murdered him in cold blood. And worst of all? She doesn't even remember his face._

_So I ask you again, Misty Lola: do you desire retribution?_

"How could I not?" Misty demanded of him as a sudden, burning fury flared up within her mind, rapidly consuming all else. "But it is impossible. I have already followed Toby to the grave, and…"

_Are you so sure?_

Misty was silent for a few moments following this booming utterance, before finally inquiring, "What exactly _are_ you?"

_I am Ccarayhua. An ancient God of the darkness, and a bargainer of souls. The lizard whose wrath is all-consuming. The entity which now wishes to share Its wrath with your own._

_For you see, the boundless might wielded by Aki Izayoi is not purely natural. Rather, it is derived from the Mark of her Master, the accursed Akaki Ryu – the sworn enemy of all My brethren. And as I believe you humans are fond of saying, the enemy of My enemy…is My friend._

"…So what exactly are you suggesting?" murmured Misty.

_Though the Crimson Dragon may be Our hated foe, the potency of some of Its…stratagems cannot be denied. Ten millennia ago, It achieved Its masterstroke by endowing a human "hero" with a fraction of Its power and compelling him to fight by Its side – transforming him into history's first Signer. And in the centuries since, new generations of Signers have continued to be chosen, wielding the energies of the Gods with no regard for the "lesser" mortals that might be hurt. Aki Izayoi is one such individual._

_But I now offer you the unique opportunity to settle your score with the Black Rose Witch. Two of My fellows – the spider Uru and the monkey Cusillu – have followed the Akaki Ryu's example and taken on avatars of Their own to assassinate their counterparts. They have been dubbed "Dark Signers."_

_You are uncommonly astute, for a human; it is one of the many reasons I have chosen _you,_ out of the billions of other mortals who have ever suffered death. You know exactly what I intend to offer you._

"I can gather the gist, yes," Misty answered breathlessly. "But if I become as they did – if I agree to host your spirit, and your mark, in exchange for rising again – what do you ask in return?"

_Nothing whatsoever, but the swift and painful death of Aki Izayoi…as well as the destruction of the "Black Rose Dragon" she holds in her possession. The servants of the Crimson Dragon, and eventually the entity Itself, must all perish from this plane – and if you will only consent to assist in that noble goal, then I shall allow you to sample the immortality of the Gods._

"But it wouldn't _really_ be immortality, would it?" responded Misty. "If what you say is true, I'll be restored to a half-life, one dominated solely by revenge. Killing Aki Izayoi would be my entire world."

_And is that not the only thing you truly require?_

This question struck Misty's disembodied psyche to its core, and she puzzled upon it for quite a while. But eventually, after all was said and done…

"Yes…I suppose it is," Misty told the God, and the last thing she remembered of her human existence was its eager tongue softly caressing her form as it wrapped tightly around her.

[-]

Misty Lola's eyes shot open.

She was, she could guess from the "company" surrounding her in all directions, currently housed within the hospital's morgue. She was naked, but otherwise she appeared to be in precisely the same condition as she had been upon waking that morning. At minimum, this told her two things: that her autopsy had yet to occur, and that, more to the point…

That _hadn't_ just been a feverish, dying dream. Ccarayhua had _done_ it.

A real mirror wasn't readily available, but Misty made do with the stainless steel of the body racks, reflecting her new form back to her magnificently. It wasn't, Misty noticed immediately, a particularly dramatic shift, but the few changes that _had_ occurred were rather jarring once Misty set out to look for them.

For one thing, her eyes were now _black_ – not the irises, which would've at least made _some_ biological sense, but rather the sclera, so that it looked almost as if her eyes had become photo-negatives of their former selves. Small but intricate tattoo-like markings had also appeared beneath them, set in a dull burgundy.

The far more noticeable changes (at least, from her perspective) were more inwardly focused, however. It was in the way she moved, or how her weight shifted, or how her muscle and sinew seemed so much more flexible than they ever had before. Everything was…off, somehow, as if her skin was no longer a part of her body, but rather a suit that was at least a size too large for her.

…It took her a few more seconds to realize that she also wasn't breathing.

_Do not fret, My host; life-after-death takes some getting used to, even for the strongest of souls. Though I am pleased your resurrection went smoothly, nonetheless._

"Err…Ccarayhua, is that you?" asked Misty, so thoroughly floored by the day's events that a disembodied voice in her head no longer even fazed her at this point.

_That is correct, Misty Lola. We have united completely, so that We might better effect Our mutual desire for Signer blood. If you will check your…'deck' at the next available opportunity, you will even see My own glorious self, incarnated in physical form so that We might do battle directly with Our foe…but that is a way's away, yet._

_For now, My host, be alert – Uru has just informed Me that Its own avatar is on his way to…greet you._

"Uru's a little slow on the uptake, then," drawled a heavy voice from the morgue's doorway, followed swiftly by a burly man in a hooded robe with deep-red trim. "And before you ask, yes, I can indeed hear your conversations with your Jibakushin, even when no one else can. Just one of the perks of my…present condition."

Smirking broadly, the man peeled off the outer layer of his robe and handed it to her, which she accepted graciously. Offering his hand immediately afterward, he then added, "Allow me to introduce myself. I am Rudger Goodwin, instigator of Zero Reverse and emissary of the Gods of Death. I am going to be your – well, let's go with _mentor_ – as you begin to…'adjust' into your current state of affairs."

"Misty Lola," she answered his greeting, timorously accepting the handshake. "So you are a…Dark…Signer, then?"

"Quite the same as you, yes," Rudger replied with a low chuckle. "It's been quite some time since one of the Earthbound Gods chose a new host; indeed, this day is cause for celebration. Especially as you are quite a bit lovelier than our family's last…acquisition."

"I heard that," called out another male voice from the hallway.

"And if you would stop skulking in the doorway and take a look at our newest member, you would agree with me," Rudger shot back, his lip curling.

"_Someone_ needs to keep an eye out – the coroner could come back at any time," the man retorted, dipping his head into the room just long enough to demonstrate that he was wearing the exact same uniform, but trimmed with yellow instead. "Demak Kera, by the way. Wielder of the monkey birthmark," he added shortly, before returning to his task as sentry.

"Err…charmed to meet you both," Misty said, somewhat awkwardly. "I'm sorry, but this is all really new to me. A few hours ago, I was just…just a model…"

"Don't worry, my dear," Rudger attempted to console her, though the hand he placed atop hers unnerved her far more than it helped. "We've all been where you are today. To become a Dark Signer is to reach the depths of hatred and despair, and yet not to run from them. To have the strength of will to absorb the darkness of your own heart and harness it into a weapon, and _prove_ to the Gods of old that you are worthy of carrying on their mission. Misty Lola, welcome. Welcome to our family."

Misty was at a loss for words at this, so Rudger took the opportunity to append, "Incidentally, is this yours? We took it from the attending physician when we killed him. I suspect he may have lifted it from your…well, for lack of a better term, 'corpse.'"

Nodding curtly, the dark-skinned man reached into his pocket and handed her Toby's locket, which Misty cradled wordlessly in her hand. A reflexive flick of her finger later and it was open, displaying the photo she had slipped in after the siblings' final argument: the two of them huddled together, beaming widely from the simple pleasure of being next to each other.

"I suppose that that is a yes, then," declared Rudger after a few pregnant beats, filled only by the soft tinkling of the musical locket. "So, in that case…shall we set off for headquarters?"

Misty took one last look around the room, her eyes running across each and every body-bag and without any conscious thought, imagining Toby's tiny face within their folds. Her grip on the locket tightened considerably, and for the first time she noticed another tattoo-like marking, burned vividly into her right forearm: a long, thin lizard.

The mark flickered slightly, and for an instant she perceived the image of a redheaded young woman with a similar one – except in the shape of a dragon's claw – lying dead upon the ground. Misty's hands were clenched tight around her throat.

Misty smiled, though there was no humor in her expression; only determination that the vision _must_ come to pass.

Holding back tears even as the smile remained upon her face, Misty Lola finally returned the Dark Signer leader's nod.

And with that, the trio departed the chamber together.


	4. Part IV: Kiryu Kyosuke

**I Am Become Death – Kiryu Kyosuke**

_Disclaimer: In case you haven't figured it out yet, I don't own Yu-Gi-Oh! 5D's. All Yu-Gi-Oh!-related characters, settings, etc. are the intellectual property of Kazuki Takahashi._

[-]

_Life is for the living.  
>Death is for the dead.<br>Let life be like music.  
>And death a note unsaid.<em>

– **Langston Hughes, **_**The Collected Poems**_

[-]

Kiryu Kyosuke's earliest distinct memory was coming across the Music.

That wasn't to say that Kiryu had _no_ recollection of his life prior to the age of seven, but rather that Kiryu didn't much _care_ about remembering those years. Kiryu had had parents, he was pretty sure of that…dull, boring people who weren't around very much, whose names Kiryu would probably be able to come up with if he had an ounce of interest in doing so.

As it was, Kiryu hadn't really felt as if he was genuinely living – or at least, living a life worthy of _calling_ itself as such – until the night of May 27, 2011. It was a date that would go down in the history books a hundred different ways, but to the young Kiryu names like "Zero Reverse" held about as much meaning as the warning labels on mattresses. Sure, the title was _technically_ attached to the event, but it didn't actually matter.

What _did_ matter was that the world had fallen apart that day…and in its ruins had lain a single 12" vinyl record, the first and greatest incarnation of the Music.

But perhaps Kiryu was getting ahead of himself. Kiryu should really start at the beginning…best as he could barely remember it.

[-]

"Kiryu, dinner's ready!" Kiryu's Mother had shouted a few hours prior. At least, Kiryu was pretty sure that's what Kiryu's Mother had said. She'd certainly yelled something, and Kiryu had certainly had dinner afterward, so that seemed to follow logically.

In any event, Kiryu was 90% sure that he'd been eating…well, _something_ or another…when it happened.

They had lived in a tiny apartment in an overcrowded, underserviced part of Domino City which Kiryu wouldn't have been able to identify now even if he stood right in front of it.

In those days, it'd been just Kiryu and that nice, raven-haired (or was it brown? – one of the two…) woman his mind called his Mother, and…come to think of it, he actually _didn't_ remember anything about Kiryu's Father. Huh…who'd have thought it?

Was he dead? Had he run out on them? Was Kiryu's memory just _that_ faulty these days? All distinct possibilities. But ultimately, if Kiryu simply couldn't remember Kiryu's Father at _all,_ what were the chances that the man had ever actually mattered? Kiryu put the question out of his mind and got back to the distant reminiscing.

Anyway…food. Soup, Kiryu thought he remembered now. Or stew. What was the difference, anyway? Kiryu had never known.

But Kiryu knew it was liquid because he distinctly remembered it running down his little shirt, making a great big stain that would've made Kiryu's Mother scream her head off.

Wait…but she _had_ screamed. And that wasn't soup or stew or whatever at all…unless it was tomato soup. Because it was red.

Blood…had to be.

She'd died instantly when the walls of their apartment had started to collapse around them from the shockwaves…right? Or had she lived for a few minutes after the rubble crushed her legs? Had she said anything to Kiryu?

Shit. Remembering stuff from before the Music was _hard._

In any event, Kiryu had managed to get out of that building alive, somehow. Kiryu thought he remembered a hero in a white uniform helping him do so, but that could just as easily have been the product of his overactive imagination having watched way too many sentai shows.

Absent any other ideas on what to do, Kiryu had ended up walking west to the police station…or was it east, to Kiryu's favorite burger restaurant? Or was it west to Kiryu's favorite burger restaurant? Or east to…

Ah, fuck it. All this second-guessing and hedging was getting Kiryu nowhere…so he decided just to skip to the stuff that was actually clear.

Step Johnny was an aging musician and dancer – never famous, always an amateur, but people around the neighborhood knew him well enough. Dreadlocks, dark skin, open shirt (which was just _wrong_ at his age, incidentally), he eventually became the owner and manager of CLOUD Voice Records, a little community record store that no one really gave a fuck about.

Indeed, Kiryu couldn't exactly explain how the place had managed to remain open into the year 2011…but if it hadn't Kiryu doubted he'd be around right now, so Kiryu wasn't complaining.

The store had been under a gas line, it appeared; it would explain the explosion that irresistibly drew his young eyes. The owner had died on impact – his cold, dead eyes staring up at Kiryu's face with an emptiness of purpose he'd grow very familiar with over the years.

Given that the store was half-demolished, Kiryu had little difficulty approaching the corpse, which lay buried under merchandise that'd cascaded down onto it during the chaos. Most of the discs were broken beyond hope of repair, but one had caught his eye: a worn, old vinyl record poking out from under Step Johnny's leg.

Johnny's blood was splattered across the b-side ("The Spider and the Fly," incidentally), but it came off easily enough with Kiryu's shirt. Not entirely knowing what he was doing, Kiryu nonetheless distinctly remembered his tiny fingers wrapping around the disc and taking it to a nearby gramophone…remarkably well-preserved, all things considered.

Getting the record to play had been…difficult, at first. Kiryu had only seen it being done once at that point in his life, and that was in some old movie; it wasn't like record players were particularly commonplace in the year 2011, after all. Kiryu knew that it seemed to have something to do with the needle-thing, but just touching it to the record didn't seem to have any effect.

Well, anyway…

Kiryu spared himself from outlining the rest of this laborious trial-and-error process (mostly because he didn't remember it much), and jumped right to the chase: the moment that needle touched the disc and the most wonderful sound ever recorded by humanity touched Kiryu's ears.

Those first few electric guitar chords…then the glorious bass coming in on the third note, resonating with such raw _power_ with the lead…and finally, the unforgettable lyrics…

_I dah dah no dah dah dah dah. I dah dah no dah dah dah dah._

Well…that's what it sounded like!

Kiryu was 7 and he'd lived in Japan all his life! How the fuck was Kiryu supposed to know any English?!

Yeah, okay, Kiryu's first experience with the Music had been pretty damn…meh. Kiryu was too young, _far_ too young to appreciate such genius to its fullest extent.

But Kiryu was intrigued…and that was a start.

[-]

Kiryu lived out of that store for the next few weeks, scavenging food and other necessities from a busted-open convenience store a few blocks away and tucking it away in his little sanctuary.

No one came for Kiryu, nor the dead body that lay on the other side of the room. Kiryu dealt with the latter largely by trying not to think about it, which worked well as long as Kiryu clogged up his nose to avoid the smell.

With nothing else to do with what seemed like infinite stretches of time, Kiryu clung to the Music – both figuratively and literally. Kiryu slept under a coffee-stained towel he'd found in the convenience store and huddled next to the record player as it repeated that song on an endless loop, comforted by its soothing tones and high energy.

At that time Kiryu had no idea whatsoever what names like "The Rolling Stones" or "Mick Jagger" meant, and of course he still didn't understand the lyrics at all. But what did that matter? What _did_ matter was that Kiryu had something to hold onto and call his own – and more than just a mere object, but an invisible, irremovable _force._

It was something that made him better than the rest of the foraging scavengers; something that gave Kiryu _power._ And it all belonged to Kiryu.

So Kiryu listened. And Kiryu listened. And Kiryu listened some more. Occasionally Kiryu would rotate in other records, most of which he liked well enough…but Kiryu would always come back to his first by the end of the day. The others were music; beautiful music, even. But only one was _the_ Music.

It was nearly three weeks before anyone decided to bother Kiryu within his sanctuary. Kiryu always slept with the Music on, of course, so when the record had abruptly stopped one night his eyes shot open immediately.

"Hey! Hey, let go!" Kiryu had shouted. For someone wrapped up in a heavy jacket had his hands around the record player, and was in the process of hauling it away.

"Kid, nothin' personal…but it's every man for himself now," the thief had said, pulling out a switchblade knife. "Dunno what this shit is, but it looks valuable to me. So either run along or I cut out your fucking throat!"

Now, keep in mind that Kiryu was still quite young and inexperienced when this occurred. If it happened these days, Kiryu would know _exactly_ how to deal with someone like this…but back then, he'd been just another frightened child.

Still, unlike most of the other children left behind in the wake of that horrible night…Kiryu had something to lose.

So Kiryu shoved the man.

The thief clearly hadn't been anticipating such a young kid actually fighting back against him, so he hadn't bothered to plant himself at all as he held Kiryu at knifepoint. The upshot of this being that a single hard push sent him sprawling onto his ass…and his knife clattering to the ground, at Kiryu's feet.

Kiryu did not think about what he was about to do next. All that ran through Kiryu's head in that moment was that he was tired, and alone, and constantly hungry…that the Music was Kiryu's one source of comfort in this Hell-on-Earth, Kiryu's sole companion and friend…and that _this_ bastard wanted to take it away from Kiryu…

There was a scream…and then silence.

The next thing Kiryu knew, the evil man wasn't moving to steal away the Music any longer. In fact, he wasn't really moving much at all.

Somehow…well, Kiryu had spent enough time next to a dead body, lately, to know when he saw one. Admittedly, Kiryu wasn't exactly certain _how_ his would-be assailant had ended up a corpse, but Kiryu wasn't about to question his good fortune.

Still…Kiryu had to give it some hard thought. Clearly, Kiryu and the Music weren't safe here. Kiryu had gotten lucky this time, but there was no guarantee he'd be able to replicate the feat in the future.

So Kiryu picked up a blanket, and what food remained from his last trek to the convenience store, and placed them all in a sack. This Kiryu tugged behind in his left hand, dragging it roughly across the ground…and in Kiryu's right, of course, went the Music. The record player was very heavy, but Kiryu managed to keep his grip nonetheless.

Kiryu had to.

Kiryu had no idea how long he'd walked after that – a lot, was as much as he cared to think it out – but eventually he'd found himself a little hidey-hole beneath the stairs of an abandoned, partially demolished building. It wasn't easily visible, unless you were looking for something like it, and it was also warm…at least, compared to the outside air.

It was a safe place.

Kiryu lived there for weeks, largely relying on the same basic routine: robbing empty stores of food, eating that food, and listening to the Music until he fell asleep. It wasn't a great life, but it was _his_ life, and no one was ever going to take it away from him.

But it was only a short while later that someone else tried.

"Hello? Is somebody in here? I thought I heard music," called out a female voice, sounding soft and warm.

Kiryu, for his part, tensed up; holding the record player close to him, Kiryu ducked down into a corner and tried to wait the stranger out. But she appeared to be insistent.

"My God…" said the woman as she entered the building and saw Kiryu huddled up, his clothes torn, grimy, and bloodstained. "Are you alright, child?"

"…Go away," Kiryu murmured, trying to shuffle away from her.

"Shhh…I'm not going to hurt you," she told Kiryu, slowly reaching her hand forward, trying to coax him out. "My name is Martha Okasama. I take care of children like you in my orphanage. You're a little older than most of my charges…but there's plenty of room if you'd like to come in out of the cold."

"_No!_" Kiryu shouted, apparently startling her with the sudden ferocity in his voice. "Stay away! Kiryu doesn't need you! Kiryu doesn't need _anyone!_"

"And how old are you, Kiryu?" she asked Kiryu.

Kiryu didn't answer the question. Kiryu just screamed some more.

"You can't be more than seven or eight, can you, Kiryu?" she pressed on nonetheless. "That's far too young to be out on your own. I can give you food, clothes, a warm bed…not to mention lots of new friends. Please, let me help you."

"Get _away_ from Kiryu! _Now!_" Kiryu bellowed, before pulling something out of his pocket and rounding on her – the switchblade knife, extracted from the chest of the _last_ would-be thief.

Martha immediately pulled her hand back, but did not leave. "You need to understand, Kiryu," she said, politely but firmly. "A child cannot live like this. You may have a weapon, but right now that means nothing. The world's falling apart, and I'm trying to do my best to provide a safety net for the kids left behind. I offer you one more chance…allow me to give you the same thing. You don't have to live in fear. You don't have to live alone."

"Kiryu's _not_ alone!" Kiryu cried, making a lunge with the knife. She barely dodged in time to avoid a great gash across her leg.

"Kiryu's _not_ alone! He's not, he's not, he's _not!_" Kiryu continued to scream as he took advantage of her stunned state to bound away, everything Kiryu owned under his arms. Kiryu ran for what seemed like hours (what well might have _been_ hours…), until he absolutely couldn't run anymore, and at that point Kiryu collapsed in another abandoned building – this one looking much like an old barber shop.

"Kiryu's _not_ alone…" Kiryu repeated, huddling under a shelf and pulling the record player close to him. With some effort he got it to work again, and the Music was restored to his life. Almost instantly Kiryu found himself overcome by the fatigue of escaping that awful, thieving woman.

"Kiryu doesn't need her…" Kiryu murmured. "Kiryu doesn't need _anyone_…"

Kiryu began to mouth the lyrics as they were belted out from the aged speakers; hundreds of repeated listenings had allowed Kiryu to learn them phonetically, even though he still had little idea what any of them actually _meant._ But one of the words, which recurred throughout the song, seemed to _speak_ to Kiryu on a deeper level, where distinctions like "English" and "Japanese" were meaningless. And it was this word that Kiryu tried to pronounce as best he could, to explain – more to himself than anything – why that woman had known _nothing_ of the way Kiryu's world worked.

"Only thing Kiryu needs is…" Kiryu whispered as he drifted off to sleep.

"…_Satisufakushon__,_" both Kiryu and the Music finished.

[-]

The next decade of Kiryu's life largely passed him by like a blur.

Kiryu hadn't been able to hide away in some dark hole with the Music forever, much as he'd wanted to.

And the reason for that was a whole bunch of cocksuckers who called themselves Security.

Now, Kiryu couldn't honestly say whether he preferred life before or after Kiryu's Mother died, but at least in the latter case he'd been master of his own course. No one told Kiryu what he could or could not do, and as long as Kiryu kept some food, his knife, and the Music with him, no one attempted to.

But Security was different. They didn't seem to like the lawless chaos that had overtaken Kiryu's entire world after that day. They wanted order imposed back on it – shiny, unremarkable, wretchedly _boring_ order. And entirely on their own terms, of course.

They'd come riding in on their pussy-ass motorcycles one day, cordoning off areas Kiryu had been walking around for months and leading him and numerous nameless, faceless others by gunpoint into settlements or processing plants which were just being reengaged.

"Satellite" was the place in which they now resided, apparently. Stupid-as-shit name (not that Kiryu had any clue what the word meant, and he wouldn't have cared if he did)…but as for what it _represented,_ Kiryu's feelings were decidedly mixed.

On the one hand, it was nice to have the permanent reminder that Kiryu was separate from those pampered asshats who lived across the bay that'd spontaneously appeared after that night. Kiryu had never actually _been_ in that part of the city, not even when the two pieces of land were one, but if the rumors were true and the people there ate caviar and truffles and other fancy shit like that while Kiryu shivered in gutters, then his attitude was a decisive "Fuck 'em all!"

On the other hand, the name seemed to _also_ imply some sort of camaraderie between Kiryu and his fellow residents of these shit-tastic slums, and Kiryu didn't really like that much either.

Kiryu hated other people as a matter of course these days; yeah, Kiryu hated Security and the fat-cats across the bay and people who smiled in the morning more than most, but that didn't spare the other members of the human race his general ire. When Kiryu would go to work in the factories – for under Security's reign, simply grabbing everything he needed from broken-down stores was frowned upon – there would often be other Satellite natives to Kiryu's side, trying to engage him in small talk or commiseration over their shared circumstances.

Kiryu didn't like that. Other people weren't like Kiryu, and Kiryu wasn't like other people. Kiryu had the Music, for one thing.

The now-aged record player was probably the best-taken-care-of piece of equipment on the entire island. What little remained of Kiryu's meager pay from factory work, after day-to-day food costs, went entirely into maintenance of the glorious machine. Kiryu had become a rather decent mechanic over the years, entirely through well-hewn practice, and much of that practice had been on repairing or replacing components of the record player as they inevitably broke, one after the other.

Kiryu never did have a consistent place to stay, in the strictest sense of the term; Kiryu and the Music simply migrated from hiding spot to hiding spot, moving whenever Security or one of their damn snitches got too near.

But whatever "laws" those bastards decided to force upon him, the Music remained…the one, constant link to a life beyond this shit, where Kiryu Kyosuke could just be Kiryu Kyosuke.

"Home" and the Music were synonymous.

[-]

"Find him!" the Security Officer yelled, as Kiryu bounded away for his life.

It was what Kiryu got for involving himself in the affairs of other people, Kiryu told himself. It'd been against Kiryu's better judgment, certainly. But the young man – now at seventeen years of age – wasn't sure he regretted it, even as Kiryu could hear gunfire some distance behind him.

It'd started simple enough. The Mystery Man had had no name, no voice…even his face was obscured by a helmet most of the time. The only thing that the other residents of Satellite had known of him was his goal.

It began with one steel pike, driven into the ground. Then another. Then a plank between them. For days the Mystery Man repeated that simple pattern, adding support beams at regular intervals…and before long the first several meters of what was unmistakably a bridge began to stretch toward the distant city.

The Mystery Man's unspoken plan was stupid; it was insane; it was impossible. And it wasn't like Kiryu actually _cared_ if the two land masses were reconnected or not. People were people wherever they lived, and Kiryu didn't much like them either way. The Mystery Man included.

But Kiryu had come to watch the Mystery Man's solitary project each new day, all the same. Repetitive as the sight was, it was still far more interesting than working in a factory. And there was undeniably a draw in just _how_ impossible the Mystery Man's goal was – if there was one thing Kiryu could appreciate in human beings, it was determination.

But when Kiryu emerged from the crowd of passive onlookers several days later, and alone out of all of them took up a hammer and joined the Mystery Man's grand vision, there was something much greater driving his actions.

A decade of life had done much to improve Kiryu's ignorance of the Music. Not only had Kiryu's record collection expanded tremendously (indeed, Kiryu doubted there was a single vinyl record in the Satellite outside his possession), but those songs that had first given his existence meaning were now understood in their fullest glory. Every lyric of the Music – and not a single English word beyond that – not only carried meaning with Kiryu, but quite literally defined his life.

And if there was one lyric that best encapsulated all of this, it was "Satisfaction."

"Satisfaction" had a few meanings, Kiryu had learned over the years. It meant to fulfill a deep need, or desire; it meant seeking pleasure, to compensate in a world determined not to permit him any; it meant using the honorable field of a duel to earn back what was taken from him, whatever the consequences.

This last definition was especially relevant these days, given Kiryu's increasing interest in the game of Duel Monsters. Another worker in the factory had introduced the cards to Kiryu, and Kiryu had wasted no time in slugging the guy and taking his deck for himself as soon as he got the chance. They weren't great cards, but they were _Kiryu's,_ and such a thing was pretty rare under Security's oppressive regime.

But Kiryu was starting to get off track. The point was, "Satisfaction" summed up Kiryu's attitude toward life pretty much pitch-perfectly. For the past decade Kiryu had grown up in a shithole, and there was absolutely no indication that said shithole was ever going to improve on any real level. And if things weren't gonna get better, the only possibility left to Kiryu was to somehow satisfy himself with what he had.

So Kiryu found Satisfaction in the little things. In crushing an opponent into the dust with a duel; in smoking or drinking on the very rare occasions that Kiryu could procure such things; in discovering a new song and adding it to Kiryu's growing collection.

And now, it was in pounding a metal spike into the ground with a sledgehammer, leading by example in the construction of the most marvelous project ever seen by the eyes of Satellite. A project that, to reiterate, Kiryu couldn't give less of a flying fuck about and certainly didn't expect to work.

But so far as Kiryu was concerned, that didn't matter in the least. Whether the bridge succeeded or not was immaterial. What was important was that it was _there…_and that Kiryu's own two hands placed sweat and toil into its every plank and beam.

Which was why, when finally asked by the Mystery Man why he alone had come to his aid, Kiryu had spoken the only three words he ever said in the Mystery Man's presence:

"It…satisfies me."

Now, with all that being said…this whole story was rather derivative from the current point, which was Kiryu running for his life from those Security motherfuckers.

That they'd cracked down on the Mystery Man wasn't surprising in the least – Kiryu had always assumed it was only a matter of time, honestly. But while Kiryu hadn't been there to see it himself, grand rumors were now spreading about the Mystery Man realizing he was fucked and deciding to go out in a blaze of glory…driving straight off the incomplete bridge and off into the sky, as if attempting to touch the sun itself.

Personally, Kiryu was pretty damn sure that was bullshit. But one thing _was_ for certain: the Mystery Man was gone without a trace. And with their primary mark out of their hands, Security needed _someone_ to fill his cell.

Now, Kiryu had been only the first of many to help with the bridge over the past few weeks; still, it wasn't like Security could go about arresting fifty people for this. Not that Kiryu doubted those fascist pigs would try if they _could,_ but even they had limits in manpower.

So it fell to Kiryu to be their scapegoat. No doubt they wanted to hogtie him and lock Kiryu in a cage like a dog, just so they could stick their heads even further up the asses of their superiors back in the city. Admittedly Kiryu had never been in prison _per se,_ but he was pretty damn sure they wouldn't allow him to move around with the freedom Satellite offered.

And the Music…they'd keep him away from the Music. Kiryu just _knew_ it. And Kiryu wasn't gonna let _that_ happen, no sir-fuckin'-ree!

"Fuck you!" Kiryu shouted back at the uniformed cunts, wishing quite desperately that he had a gun or some other long-distance weapon. He couldn't fight any of them off with the knife without getting a whole lot closer, and with so many closing in Kiryu knew that'd be a death sentence.

But there was one thing Kiryu Kyosuke absolutely _wouldn't_ do. Kiryu would _not_ surrender to these motherfuckers.

And if that meant Kiryu would have to go down swinging…well then…

"C'mon, in here! _Hide!_" whispered a voice to Kiryu's immediate right, and Kiryu felt himself being pulled into a nearby building before he could react.

"Get off me!" Kiryu cried out, instinctively trying to wriggle out of the speaker's grip. "Get the fuck _off!_"

"That how you react every time someone saves your ass from Security?" scoffed another voice; it was dark in the building, so Kiryu couldn't make out the speaker. "I say we throw him back out there if he won't even give a simple 'thank-you.'"

"Eh, don't be such a douche, Jack. That's my job," quipped a third voice, who proceeded to snicker. Kiryu momentarily panicked, though he tried not to show it; just how many of these people _were_ there?!

"Alright…looks like the coast is clear," said the first, who had obliged and released Kiryu's arm as he stared through slatted windows out onto the street. "Crow, you can turn the lights back on."

A moment later this "Crow" complied, and the room Kiryu had been roughly yanked into was illuminated for the first time. It was small, and fairly unremarkable; indeed, probably its only notable features were its three other occupants, all arrayed before Kiryu.

The one who had grabbed him, a young man sporting steely blue eyes and the most ridiculous hairdo Kiryu had ever seen in his life, held his hand forward. "My name is Yusei Fudo," he told Kiryu, before nodding to the others in turn. "Those are my friends, Jack Atlas and Crow."

"Jack Atlas" was a rather tall man with well-styled blond hair; "Crow" was a redhead in a beat-up vest. Both waved vaguely to Kiryu as "Yusei" asked him, "So, what's your name?"

"…Kiryu Kyosuke…" Kiryu murmured after a few moments.

"Nice to meet you, Kiryu," said Yusei. "So why were those Security Officers chasing you?"

Kiryu didn't answer for a while. Then…

"Satisfaction," Kiryu replied.

"The Hell does that mean?" Crow tossed off, casually cracking his neck. "That supposed to be Spanish or something?" 

"It's English, you idiot," answered Jack, rolling his eyes. "Although knowing the language doesn't make what he said make any more sense."

"They tried to take away…my Satisfaction," breathed Kiryu. Though there was, strictly speaking, nothing preventing Kiryu from running out of there right at that moment, for whatever reason Kiryu felt he _needed_ these people to understand. To _really_ understand.

"Nothing's more important than Satisfaction," Kiryu continued. "Satisfaction's the only damn thing that brings happiness in this Hell we call a world. Hope's stupid, and only idiots rely on it. Instead of wishing for a dream of paradise that never comes, why not try and make the world around us something we can be satisfied with? It's simple, and it's obvious…and so those fuckers at Security will _never_ understand it. _That's_ why they chase me."

"A little rant-y, and not at all answering the question…but hey, I can't say he's entirely wrong," Crow admitted.

"You…you _understand?_" asked Kiryu, his eyes wide.

"I…guess…?" Crow replied. This caused Kiryu to burst into a long stream of laughter.

"Err…what exactly is happening here?" Crow questioned the others as Kiryu clapped him on the back, almost doubling over as he continued to laugh.

"Beats me. This one's all on Yusei," Jack said disinterestedly.

"Security has been going out of control lately," stated Yusei, shaking his head at the pair. "Firing into a crowded area like this to take down an unarmed target? I couldn't just stand by and do nothing. Not until I'd heard his side of the story, at least."

Instantly Kiryu's laughter ended, and his face became far more staid. "In that case…I…" Kiryu muttered, hesitating before finishing, "…Thanks."

It was the first time Kiryu could ever remember saying that word.

"Bit big on the mood swings, isn't he?" Crow wondered aloud, though while his tone was flippant Kiryu could tell he was genuinely concerned about it.

While it was true that Kiryu tended to dislike other people on principle, that didn't mean that he couldn't read them exceedingly well. And though these people didn't exactly _trust_ Kiryu (even the one called "Yusei," though he was more receptive than the others), Kiryu didn't sense the hostility or selfishness he'd come to expect of those who didn't _understand_ as he did. Who weren't versed in the Music; who didn't seek Satisfaction as a matter of course…

These were _people._ People who _weren't_ Kiryu. And yet Kiryu wasn't bolting away from them. In-and-of-itself, that was an astounding revelation.

Not only did Kiryu want them to understand; now Kiryu realized that they _could_ understand. It wasn't from anything they'd said, or done…it'd been wordless, an exchange of hearts and minds that'd taken place the moment Yusei had grabbed his arm, though Kiryu hadn't realized it at the time…

Just like the Music.

"I…I apologize for how I might've just come off," Kiryu said, reaching farther than he ever had before to find the right words. "I don't…talk to people…very much. It confuses me."

"Come on. Surely you must talk to _someone,_" replied Jack.

"Other people always seem so…_ugh,_" Kiryu told him, as if that fully explained everything. "They don't like me, I don't like them; we stay away from each other. That's how it's worked all my life. But…but you guys…"

Kiryu didn't complete the sentence, but did something even rarer for him than speaking in the company of others. Sincerely and unabashedly, Kiryu _smiled_ at them.

"Let's…talk," Kiryu added cheerfully, still choosing his words with the utmost care. "I'm starting to get the feeling this day was…meant to be."

[-]

In what seemed like no time at all, Kiryu found himself integrating into the trio's long-established friendship…and far more surprisingly, Kiryu was actually _enjoying_ it.

Yusei was the only one who opened up to Kiryu instantly; Kiryu got the distinct sense that the teenager dispensed trust as freely as Kiryu dispensed obscenities. Normally that sort of attitude would drive Kiryu nuts, but for reasons he couldn't quite explain to himself, nothing could be father from the truth.

Indeed, if anything, Kiryu found the sentiment almost…infectious.

"Trust" wasn't really a word in Kiryu's personal lexicon, but as close as he could approximate it, Kiryu felt it for Yusei. The young man was impeccably sincere, wise beyond his years, and generally about the most sickeningly good guy Kiryu had ever run across. Except, perplexingly, without the "sickening" part. Kiryu couldn't _help_ but like the kid.

The two also had the most in common. None of them were really much for the Music, which had initially distressed Kiryu…but Yusei at least was willing to give it a shot, which was a start. And though his understanding of English was decidedly tenuous, he did seem to grow to appreciate having it in the background while they were hanging out. His favorite of Kiryu's records, based purely on the beat, seemed to be "My Generation."

Like many things, Kiryu laughed at that.

Beyond that, both Kiryu and Yusei shared an inclination for just about anything mechanical; indeed, though Kiryu considered himself fairly talented for someone who was completely self-taught on exactly one device, Yusei's knack for turning junk into engineering marvels seemed to border on that of a savant.

As the weeks passed by and Kiryu found himself moving in with the trio without anyone really formally declaring that he could or should, most of Kiryu's days ended up being spent in an abandoned garage Yusei had converted into something of a workshop – the Music playing on loop as the two took whatever raw materials they could find and made treasures beyond compare.

It was a beautiful process. Kiryu wasn't even entirely sure how to put it into words, beyond just describing the bare facts – the axel grease on their faces, the intricate dance of handing tools to one another in total silence, the incredible glow in Yusei's eyes when they were finally able to bask in the Satisfaction of completion…

But one thing was for certain: the entire thing made Kiryu happier than just about anything else in this whole damn world. It was the Music given form.

Comparatively, his relationships with Jack and Crow developed far more…slowly. It was never exactly _icy_ between them (at least, apart from the one time Kiryu had made the grave error of consuming one of Jack's precious ramen cartons), but there wasn't that instant spark – that "click" – that there'd been with Yusei.

Part of it was the personalities involved, of course. Jack was standoffish at the best of times, and Crow was…Crow. There really wasn't a better description for the guy, other than that they just plain didn't hit it off well at the start. But he was friendly at most times, if more than a little rude. And his dirty jokes were the best out of the four, Kiryu had to admit.

One factor _did_ tie the group together from day one, however: their love for the game of Duel Monsters. The others had been playing for years, mostly with each other and entirely with cards acquired off the streets. Well, that wasn't _entirely_ true, Kiryu amended; most of Crow's deck came from some old dead guy, and while the other two hadn't been so lucky, each held at least one card that was probably rare even for those dipshits across the bay.

_Stardust Dragon_ and _Red Dæmon's Dragon_ were proof that at least _some_ worthwhile crap got dumped here occasionally, Kiryu supposed. They sure as Hell beat the shit out of anything in Kiryu's deck right now, anyway.

Not that Kiryu was all that bitter about it. Honestly, though Kiryu wasn't about to shout it out loud, he was mostly just grateful to have people to play with at all. Collecting the cards solo could definitely be fun, but it was like the Music; sharing the experience made the whole thing more…complete, Kiryu guessed was the right word.

In any event, the upshot of all this was that for the first time in his entire life, Kiryu was capable of saying the sentence, "I have friends."

And indeed Kiryu did, apropos to nothing, during one morning about a month after they first met. Nothing else was really going on – Crow and Jack were playing a duel on the floor, while Yusei was futzing with the wiring on an engine they'd recently salvaged – so the simple, matter-of-fact statement grabbed all of their attentions.

"Yeah. And what of it, dumbass?" tossed off Crow, not looking up from the game. A few weeks ago Kiryu would've punched his lights out for speaking to him like that; the fact that Kiryu had no urge to do so now came as a pleasant surprise. Kiryu expressed this in laughter, as he did many things.

"I fail to see what's so funny," said Jack, also not looking away from the field. "And incidentally, Crow, switching Battle Positions on my turn is illegal."

"Of course _you_ wouldn't, Jack," replied Kiryu, holding back a further spurt of guffaws as the watched the red-faced Crow pull back his hand. "You don't have a sense of humor. And I love ya for it."

"The word 'platonic' had better be implicit in there," Jack warned dryly. "Not that I have any problem if you swing that way…but contrary to certain idiotic rumors, I do not."

"You tell him, Jack!" Crow exclaimed as he activated _Black Whirlwind._ His opponent groaned; this invariably meant the beginning of one of the redhead's infamous five-minute combos. "I mean, where could they even possibly be _getting_ stuff like that? Just because a guy likes to dress in purple and work on his abs and say every single sentence like he's on stage in a musical…not to mention the fuss he throws anytime someone messes with his hairdo…"

"Oh, give it a rest, Crow," snarled Jack, irritably flipping over both a Trap and a Spell. "_Shockwave_ destroys that _Armor Master_ you just Summoned and inflicts damage to us both equal to its ATK; _Ring of Defense_ shields me from my share of it. Which means you lose. Have a nice day."

"I…uh…wait, _what?!_" yelled Crow. "What the _fuck,_ man! I had this whole big turn planned, with three Synchros and everything!"

"And now you don't. Sucks to be you," Jack quipped back. This elicited a renewed burst of laughter from Kiryu.

"Okay, I take it back. Maybe you _do_ have a sense of humor after all," Kiryu told him with a smirk. "It just doesn't work like most people's."

"In all fairness, neither does yours," piped up Yusei. Kiryu, predictably, just laughed more at this; the teenager was quite right about that, of course.

After a few more moments of mirth, however, Kiryu's expression turned more somber. Kiryu could tell Crow was made a little bit nervous by the sudden shift in mood, while Jack didn't even seem to notice…but Yusei just kept staring back at Kiryu, with those warm, warm eyes.

"I just…want to let you three know how much this means to me," Kiryu said, inhaling deeply. "This isn't easy for me to say, but I feel like I've really got to. All my life, I've been alone. Just me, the Music…and the search for Satisfaction. But you guys…you've really started to change that. When I'm here, I'm…I'm more than just me."

"That's what having friends is like, Kiryu," Yusei told him, placing a reassuring hand on Kiryu's shoulder. "Trust me, we all learned that the hard way. But growing up with Martha…I guess we were taught you just didn't really get that far trying to walk alone."

"Who's Martha?" asked Kiryu.

"Martha Okasama," offered Crow. "She's the woman who raised the three of us; runs the only orphanage in Satellite. Great lady…if kinda strict."

"She was only 'strict' with you when you were acting like a moron. Which in your case was pretty much daily," Jack rejoined.

"Wait a second…" murmured Kiryu; a memory was starting to stir. "She…wouldn't happen to have long brown hair and dark skin, would she?"

"That's her," said Yusei. "Have you met before?"

"I…" began Kiryu, before he stopped himself. Inwardly Kiryu could feel his temper rising as he remember the stupid old hag, the image of her reaching to take Kiryu away from the Music searing itself into his brain. But something was strongly telling Kiryu that these weren't thoughts he should really be broadcasting right now.

"I…err…no. No we haven't," Kiryu finally answered. "I just overheard some other guys mention her name and show a picture a while back, that's all. I don't remember the context."

The others nodded in accedence to this rather boring version of events, before returning to the activities that had been occupying them previously. Kiryu, for his part, went out onto the street and let out a sigh of relief.

It'd been the first time Kiryu had ever lied to his only friends. And it wouldn't be the last.

[-]

The idea for Team Satisfaction, more than anything else, had come about because Crow stole some beer.

That the redhead had extremely fleet fingers was a well-accepted aspect of his character, and in any event stealing in the Satellite didn't have _quite_ the same connotations that it did elsewhere (or what Kiryu _assumed_ it did elsewhere, anyway; it wasn't like he had anything to compare it to). It wasn't uncommon for one of them, when funds were low, to distract the owner of a convenience store or outpost while Crow helped himself to whatever foodstuffs or other supplies caught his birdlike eye.

Kiryu thought he was pretty damn good at the task, incidentally. Kiryu could be quite talented at charming or manipulating others with his tongue, especially considering that Kiryu hated most all of them on sight.

Such as it was today – they were both thirsty and their hideout was a fair distance away, so Kiryu was currently chatting up a liquor store owner about his kids (or something like that…Kiryu was mostly just smiling and nodding) while Crow snuck over to the back and nabbed a case.

"…And now that she's turned thirteen, all the local boys are after her," the older man said with a grimace. "Worst part is that she's just letting 'em. Not 'cause she's actually interested, but 'cause she just wants to screw with me."

"Kids, huh?" replied Kiryu, knowing from experience that such a vague platitude would spur the owner into another few minutes of pointless prattling. Which was all they needed. Just a simple case of get-in, get-out…

"Get down on the ground and put your hands on your fucking heads!" cried a voice from the entryway, punctuated by a burst of gunfire. "And you two, load up all the shit you can carry! I want this place cleaned out in five!"

…Or not.

"Traditional" guns and other ranged weaponry was a rarity in the Satellite; Security kept a very tight hold on such products, and while leaks and black market dealings certainly weren't unheard of the vast majority of the island's peoples had probably never even touched a firearm.

But comparatively, mod kits to turn Duel Disks – a ubiquitous item even in the worst slums – into guns or explosives could be found just about anywhere; Hell, anyone with an internet connection could probably just look up how to do it themselves. It definitely wasn't hard, nor overwhelmingly expensive. Finding ammunition was usually the only tricky part.

The upshot of this was that – especially in the parts of the Satellite where the old Yakuza families had little to no presence these days – the streets were largely ruled by "Duel Gangs": punks with modded Duel Disks and powerful decks who staked out territory through protection rackets, assassinations, and (as in this case) good old-fashioned robbery.

The Duel Gang now in the process of shaking down the liquor store was known as Team Golem. They'd been a legitimate Pro-Dueling team, once upon a time, or at least their founders had been…but everyone on this side of Zero Reverse had inevitably been transformed by it, and these days Kiryu felt all the gangs pretty much blended into each other, regardless of origin.

Kiryu, for his part, stayed away from the sons-of-bitches as much as was possible, and generally it worked; unless you were going around bragging about your dueling prowess or some shit like that, and kept your head down during "transactions" like this one, most of the gangs were content to leave you alone. Crow was already motioning for Kiryu to follow him in sneaking out and leaving this fucker to his fate.

But something was different today.

"Hey, douchebags!" Kiryu called out suddenly, to Crow's immense surprise and alarm. "You do realize coming in here and waving those things doesn't make your dicks grow any bigger, right?"

"The fuck do you think you are?" demanded the gang leader, brandishing his weapon.

"Someone who isn't scared by fucking pussies," Kiryu replied, cracking his knuckles. "Look, I don't got any problem with stealing a few beers. But cleaning this whole place out at once? It's gonna shut down. And then there won't be _any_ booze left in this neighborhood. Those bitches in Security control the shit tightly as is."

"Well…guess you _do_ have a point there…" the man admitted, his barrel lowering slightly.

Which was all the invitation that Kiryu needed to leap at him and sock him in the jaw.

What happened next could only possibly be described as a "motherfucking epic beatdown." With their leader out like a light in one hit the other Team Golem members panicked, and Kiryu dove at the others in their confusion, chortling jovially as their blood began to stain his fists. Having no idea _why_ Kiryu was doing this but knowing they were past the point of no return, Crow shrugged and joined him.

The result was that in a few moments, about a dozen members of Team Golem lay sprawled on the ground, most of them sporting broken bones and all of them completely unconscious.

Kiryu, for his part, was panting…but in a good way, and with a smile to match. After months of relatively "normality" (or whatever passed for it here in Satellite), it'd been so…_invigorating_ to just let loose and kick some ass, and the fact that these bastards deserved it just made the prize all the sweeter.

"_God,_ man! Warn a guy next time before you jump dudes with enough bullets to kill us a hundred times, 'kay thanks?" exclaimed Crow, his arms crossed as he propped the last member to go down against a wall.

Kiryu did not answer this, however, as the cowering shopkeeper slowly emerged from beneath his till and timidly addressed Kiryu. "Th…Thank you, young man," he said. "I don't know what I'd have done if you hadn't saved me."

Kiryu gave a snort of derision at this. "I didn't do it for _you,_" he hissed, kicking the man in the gut to emphasize the point. Then he motioned for Crow to grab a few cases and follow him out.

"So wait…if you weren't defending that guy, why the fuck _did_ you pull that stunt?" asked Crow as they departed from the busted-up liquor store.

"Satisfaction," answered Kiryu with a smirk, adding nothing else.

[-]

"So here's how I see it, guys," Kiryu told Yusei, Jack, and Crow that night, a _very_ rough sketch of the Satellite splayed across the table. "I've tried to draw the various Duel Gangs' territories as closely as possible. And if you combine them all with the sections of the island those Security pigs have under their greasy thumbs…"

"It's nearly the entirety of Satellite," Jack finished for him, before crossing his arms and looking away in disinterest. "But what's your point?"

"My _point_ is that this whole island is a fucking Hellhole because of these guys," responded Kiryu. "I'm tired of it, you're tired of it, we're all fucking tired of it! But nobody _does_ anything about it! We all know this place would be way less shitty if they were taken out, so…"

As if to finish the sentence, Kiryu strapped on his Duel Disk and pressed a switch to demonstrate his latest self-installed mod – a steel cord designed to stop fleeing gangmembers in their tracks.

"Nice, huh?" Kiryu said to them, looking smug. "I configured it all myself. I'm also working on a short-range jamming device that should disable weaponized Duel Disks…that way, the fuckers will be forced to stand and fight instead of running like pussies. And ya wanna know the best part? The moment they get their asses handed to them, this cord will deliver a shock strong enough to blow their Duel Disks to fucking pieces!"

"And again…what exactly would be the _point_ of this?" asked Crow. "I'm all for picking fights and having fun as much as the next guy, but…"

"The _point_ is liberating Satellite!" Kiryu exclaimed back, jabbing his fist at the makeshift map. "Everyone lives in fear of the Duel Gangs…and of Security. Best hope they've got is dreaming of a way off this island…and fat lotta good that does, since it ain't fucking happening unless you can pay a shitload to one of those traffickers."

"Doesn't mean you can't waste your life wishing for it…" Jack murmured under his breath; Kiryu heard it, but paid no heed.

"Nah, what we've gotta do is get people thinking in a whole different mindset," insisted Kiryu, his hand gestures becoming more and more exaggerated as his passion visibly rose. "It's not about getting the fuck out. It's about _satisfying_ yourself with what's around you. And if what's around you makes that impossible – say, because Duel Gangs are beating up every third guy on the street and jacking his shit – then…"

Without warning, Kiryu jabbed his trusty switchblade into one of the largest territories on the map – that of the infamous Magician's Four.

"…Well, then, you just _take care_ of the problem right there," Kiryu finished, beginning to laugh giddily. Kiryu was quite pleased with how this "presentation" was going so far.

There was silence for a few minutes following this, before Yusei finally broke it with a quiet, "Alright…let me see if I've got this straight, Kiryu. You want us to go around, beating down Duel Gangs on their home turf…and crossing our fingers that they don't come back? Because I really don't see how that would work."

"No, no, no," replied Kiryu with a smirk, patting Yusei playfully on the head as he did. "We're going to _make sure_ they don't come back. By becoming a Duel Gang ourselves!"

"Err…wait, what? How exactly does this solve the problem, again?" Crow asked confusedly.

"Well, _someone_ needs to control that territory," Kiryu argued, again jabbing his finger at the map on the table. "If only to make sure it doesn't fall back in the hands of someone who'll fuck it back up again. So why not us? We're all badass duelists, we work well together, and we've all got Satellite's best interests at heart."

Seeing that they still weren't convinced, Kiryu drew himself up to full height and began speaking with grand gestures and high energy. "Think about it, guys!" Kiryu implored them. "Once we show that nobody can challenge us, we'll be able to take over the whole damn island! And once _we're_ running the show, we can lay ground rules. We can make sure the big money goes to good stuff, like…orphans and shit. And we can clean these streets…stop people from getting hurt. Who'll do it if we don't?"

"I guess you've got a point there," Yusei conceded, though he still seemed a little reticent. "Security _should_ be handling the Duel Gangs, but they're not. Not well enough, anyway…"

"And what? That fucking surprises you?" asked Kiryu with a snort. "Those pigs wouldn't lift a finger if every single Duel Gang shat in their backyard at once. Someone needs to put them in line, and it's _not_ those fucktards with Security. It's gotta be us."

Crow, who had gone very quiet since Kiryu mentioned the word "orphans," suddenly nodded at this. "You know this plan is totally insane, right?" he said, sighing. "But…well, I hate to admit it, but it makes sense. So I guess I'm in, if the rest of you guys are too."

Jack shrugged his shoulders, his expression indifferent. "Well, it sure beats the Hell out of sitting on our asses doing nothing," he declared. "Besides, _someone_ has to stick around to keep you two in line. It'd make things weird around here if you went and got yourselves shot up."

Kiryu laughed and clapped his friends on the shoulders at these words…but Kiryu's eyes rested firmly and totally on another's.

This whole plan meant nothing if Yusei rejected it. And despite his earlier words, the face of the youngest member of their group remained utterly unreadable.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity of held breath, Yusei Fudo tilted his head slightly upward, so that his stoic gaze might meet Kiryu's impassioned one directly…

And gave a small, silent nod.

Kiryu wept tears of joy that day.

[-]

The first few months went fucking amazingly.

Since the whole thing had been Kiryu's idea, the others had deferred to him in such matters as team name and uniform. The latter had been simple enough – matching vests that firmly cemented their badassery were more than plenty – and as for the former…well, it was as much of a no-brainer as Kiryu could ever remember anything in his life being.

"Team Satisfaction." The Music given life in the bonds they forged. Four friends tethered together for all of eternity, like four power chords synchronizing in perfect harmony…

That was the truth that Kiryu was intent on living. And it was a truth Team Satisfaction was more than willing to back up with action.

The relatively calming influences of Yusei and Jack, Kiryu was forced to admit, _did_ keep him from committing some rather terrible blunders in that initial era of conquest. Kiryu's natural instincts had drawn him immediately to the Magician's Four as their first target – what could be more satisfying, after all, than taking out the most influential Duel Gang in all of Satellite right off the bat? – but this decision was handily overruled, in favor of taking on some smaller fish first.

And so yeah, the Satisfaction derived from their defeats wasn't _quite_ the high Kiryu had been hoping for. But _damn_ was it fun in the moment, nonetheless.

They practiced quite a few set strategies and maneuvers, communicated to each other through hand signals or a crude link system Yusei installed in their Duel Disks. Designed to isolate individual gangmembers and duel them into submission one-by-one, these tactics were acted out so many times over that Kiryu had lost count. All four acting like a well-oiled machine, Team Satisfaction proceeded to take out one Duel Gang after another, with nary even a worthwhile challenge in sight.

It'd begin small. One of them would volunteer to serve as bait – usually either Yusei (as the youngest) or Crow (as the smallest in stature). Jack was the only one who point-blank refused to fulfill the role; Kiryu himself liked to get in on the action from time to time, since after all, one could never have too much practice bluffing.

Regardless of who was playing possum that day, though, the result was largely the same: a bunch of thugs would close in, thinking they'd found an easy mark that mistakenly wandered into their territory…and at the last second, get their asses ambushed from the back.

The duels themselves, once the steel cords and hacking software made sure their opponents couldn't escape, were pretty much foregone conclusions. To date Kiryu had only seen Team Satisfaction lose once…and given that Crow had been dueling four-on-one at the time and had one-turn-killed the other three just beforehand, Kiryu was willing to cut the dude some slack.

Their first _real_ challenge came when they entered the territory of Team Golem. Impatient pretty much by nature, Jack had gone ahead while everyone else was asleep and decided to take out virtually the entire gang single-handedly…and more to the point, he came very close to succeeding.

But the gang leader had pulled out an ancient revolver right the fuck out of nowhere – which, of course, had no software to jam – as soon as their duel began, and so it was pretty much a miracle that Jack Atlas was still standing today. The rest of the Team realized where Jack had gone and saved his ass just in time, but it was definitely a closer call than Kiryu ever wanted to experience again.

From then on Kiryu had modified Team Satisfaction's Duel Disks even further, adding a number of redundant systems as well as a tracking device. By that point they were certainly some of the most advanced tech in the entirety of Satellite, and Kiryu was damn proud of them.

Weeks passed by, and those weeks turned into months; fucking glorious months. Every few days another sector of the island was colored in black, symbolizing their dominance over the land and the duelists that stood upon it.

Word spread rapidly: if you had a Duel Disk, you could bet your ass that the best damn duelists in Satellite would be coming after you soon. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow…but Team Satisfaction _always_ came eventually. Pretty soon the streets were littered with ruined Duel Disks and discarded cards, and Kiryu gave a fresh burst of laughter every time he crushed them beneath his feet.

Many of the Duel Gangs – Team Yakyu and the Kimono Gang, for example – had gotten out of the game, period, after Team Satisfaction drove them out. Clearly, trying to reform after an ass-kicking like _that_ wasn't worth it to the smallest of the small-fry.

Others, like the Sakana Gang or the Discothèque Trio (and yes, there was _actually_ a gang that went by that name, to Kiryu's eternal bewilderment; after all, disco sucked balls), tried to take back their territories on at least one occasion.

But while the four of them obviously couldn't police _every_ sector 100% of the time, they'd scared shitless more than enough of the people in the streets that the general response to such attempted takebacks was, "Fuck y'all, I'm sticking with the new guys."

…Paraphrased, naturally.

[-]

The day they finally ended the Magician's Four had been a watershed moment for Team Satisfaction; Kiryu had been building it up in his head ever since they'd started this whole thing, and he knew it'd make for quite the coup for their reputations as well. The Magician's Four were well-known for being some of the hardest motherfuckers in Satellite, holding a near-complete monopoly on the illegal smuggling of both Duel Monsters cards and heroin.

On this island, it was hard to say which product was more coveted.

Crow had been the bait this time, although he'd been discovered a little before they'd planned…meaning the other three needed to high-tail their asses to the warehouse where all Four had ganged up upon their friend.

Fortunately, Crow's quick thinking – he always _had_ been the tricky one – allowed him to activate the tracking device in his Duel Disk without the gang noticing, and by the time they finally did Yusei, Jack, and Kiryu were right on top of them.

"Hey, Magician punk! I'm taking you on!" Kiryu said as he strode confidently up to their leader. The others were occupied elsewhere by Kiryu's friends, but this fucker had tried to run…which was just fine with Kiryu. Kiryu always loved crushing the runners.

The guy looked about ready to piss his pants. "D…Damn you!" he cried, backing away.

"Leader of Team Satisfaction, Kiryu Kyosuke, at your service," Kiryu told the man, drawing his Duel Disk with a flourish. "Now…satisfy me."

The cord snapped around his Duel Disk before he'd even realized Kiryu fired it. "Let's duel!" Kiryu added with a relish.

The Magician's Four leader narrowed his eyes, before mirroring Kiryu's activation of his Duel Disk and shouting, "Okay, kid…you're asking for it! _Duel!_"

But though he made a few impressive moves – he had particular skill for the manipulation of Spell Counters – the gang leader soon proved to be as much of a joke as the rest. A few well-placed Traps and the duel was over in minutes.

"Do you hear those screams in the other room, you little shit?" Kiryu asked the duelist, smirking with oh-so-sweet Satisfaction at the smoke emerging from his now-useless Duel Disk. "The Magician's Four is going down for good tonight, as we speak. Just one more stepping stone on the road to Team Satisfaction ruling this island."

"You're a fucking moron if you actually think that's possible," Kiryu's opponent grunted, seething with anger as he gazed upon the worthless hunk of metal on his arm. "You're riding high now, bastard…but it'll all crash down one of these days. We'll be back, and so will Team Golem, and so will the Sakana Gang. We've been running these fucking streets for _years,_ and no poser faggots are just gonna come in and…!"

This sentence was not completed, however, on account of Kiryu kicking the man in the ribs, hard enough to fracture a few.

"That was the old song. Newsflash: Satellite's got a new headliner," Kiryu quipped, before aiming another kick.

The duel had been over too quickly, Kiryu reflected in that moment, as his hand shot toward his waist. This certainly helped.

Anyway…

A few moments later, Kiryu was looking furtive as his friends rejoined him, but Kiryu's expression turned jovial as they each confirmed that the supposedly invincible Magician's Four had crumpled like wet toilet paper.

"We did it, guys!" Kiryu said with a smirk, and his teammates bumped fists with him in response. Kiryu took one last brief look back, before taking his friends by the shoulders and leading them out of that now-silent warehouse.

Kiryu just didn't have the heart to tell them the son-of-a-bitch had gone and tried to ruin their victory by stabbing himself to death. Not when they were all clearly so happy – as was Kiryu, of course – to finally have full control of Zone D.

Some people were just sore fucking losers…

[-]

Taking down the Magician's Four had turned out to be the turning point. Whole sectors of the island actually began to come to _them_ to surrender their territory, figuring it'd be less humiliating if they at least took the initiative.

Kiryu never let them get away with pussying out like that, of course. They always got a fair duel regardless.

And naturally, they _always_ lost.

Black marker covered more and more of Kiryu's map almost every day, the designations Yusei had drawn up for organizational purposes falling so rapidly that Kiryu could scarcely keep up with them. Zone A, Zone E, Zone L, Zone X, Zone Z…they all blended together in Kiryu's mind, but ultimately it wasn't the letters that mattered.

It was the Satisfaction, and that _never_ failed to deliver.

Still, one letter _did_ stand out from all the rest…and that was "M."

Zone M was the largest territory on their map by a fair margin, and more-or-less smack dab in the center too. Kiryu couldn't help feeling like they were nipping around the edges of the place at all times, but it could not be helped; Jack and Yusei were insistent that it be taken on last.

The soon-to-be-deposed rulers of the sector were known as Team Aerospace. Or maybe it was Team Aviator? Kiryu seemed to recall that they changed it once or twice.

Well, whatever they were called, they weren't exactly the masters of illicit trade that the Magician's Four had used to be. Mostly they just held as large a territory as they did by sheer numbers. Unlike most Duel Gangs, which were stratified by family lineage, _anyone_ could join Team Who-The-Fuck-Cares, so long as they did what the head honcho said when required; otherwise, membership was basically a blank check to run rampant across Zone M.

As might be expected in a poverty-stricken slum…this was a pitch that got a lot of takers.

Still, Kiryu wasn't worried. As the four of them strode confidently into enemy territory and dozens of duelists began to surround them on all sides, Kiryu's only response was to chuckle and say, "I don't see any harm. Any less than this and we wouldn't be satisfied. Now…duel!"

It was the ultimate test of their skills, and fuck _yeah_ did they deliver. Kiryu watched approvingly as Crow roped in a record four opponents into a single duel, only to beat them all before the last one had even drawn a card; Kiryu smiled even more at Jack, who dashed across the area and pulled the duelists one-by-one into a forced sprint, striking each one down in less than a minute and pulling another in without a word.

That was Jack for ya…even on foot, he acted just like he was in a Riding Duel.

Yusei, meanwhile, had raced after their leader. Kiryu gave a howl of laughter and followed at a casual pace, picking off every straggler he could find as Yusei cut through their forces like a well-aimed arrow.

About half an hour later, however, Kiryu began to think that perhaps Yusei had been shooting _too_ far ahead. Kiryu hadn't seen a trace of his best friend since they first entered Zone M, and though Kiryu was having the time of his life stomping the low-level mooks into the dirt, part of him was starting to get concerned.

That was when Kiryu heard the scream.

What happened to Kiryu in that moment wasn't anything he'd ever before experienced. Conscious thought was no longer driving his actions – Kiryu simply sprinted out onto the rooftop and toward the sound, just in time to see Yusei go over the railing.

Still feeling like he was on autopilot, Kiryu dove to the other side of the roof and extended his cord, praying to a bunch of fucking gods Kiryu didn't believe in that the manacle would make it in time. Kiryu needed precise aim here, and a firm grip…

The device closed tight around Yusei's wrist.

Of course, one clear disadvantage to doing all this almost automatically is that Kiryu, never much for forward-thinking on the best of days, had neglected to realize just how fucking _heavy_ Yusei was. It was all Kiryu could do to hold onto the steel cord with his increasingly sweaty hands, much less to pull up on it…

And that was without considering the fact that the old, rusted railing Kiryu was bracing himself against was starting to give way.

"Kiryu, stop!" cried Yusei desperately. "Let go of me! If you don't…you'll get dragged down too!"

"Bullshit, Yusei!" Kiryu shouted back, barely even comprehending what he was hearing. "I would _never_ just…urgh…abandon you! You're…_urgh_…my friend!"

Kiryu continued to pull with all his might, grunting and growling as he watched the last part of the railing begin to splinter. In the back of his mind, Kiryu knew that all this struggling wasn't really helping either of them.

But Yusei was Kiryu's first friend. One of Kiryu's _only_ friends. The one who taught Kiryu what it meant to be a part of something…to care for someone other than Kiryu.

Kiryu didn't want to go back to the way he was before Yusei, Jack, and Crow had forced themselves into his lives – when it'd just been Kiryu, the Music, and his deck, yearning with all his heart for Satisfaction but never once actually getting to experience it. So if Yusei was fated to die this day…Kiryu saw no reason not to join him…

Kiryu was interrupted in the course of this thought by Crow, who had grasped Kiryu around the waist and was wrenching him upward, until both of his friends were on solid ground once more. As the two lay there panting on the ground Yusei's eyes, shimmering with gratitude, stared back into Kiryu's, and the silver-haired duelist silently marveled at what he had just done – or rather, marveled at the fact that it didn't surprise Kiryu one bit.

"Thank you, Kiryu," Yusei said simply, and Kiryu knew instantly that he'd have done it again in a heartbeat.

Nevertheless…there was still the matter of the cocksucking bastard who'd _dared_ to pull that stunt in the first place. Jack kicked the guy's face in when he tried to run away, which was a good start…

But it certainly wasn't satisfying.

He'd _dared_ to touch one of Kiryu's friends…to try and take one of Kiryu's friends away from him. He needed to pay for that.

With Zone M routed of its last remaining Duel Gang, it hadn't been hard to corner the motherfucker later that night – ironically, on top of an entirely different rooftop. Kiryu scouted the guy smoking weed from a distance and silently crept up to him through the darkness, his cloak floating behind him as he placed his target in a stranglehold.

"You know what I hate?" Kiryu murmured, holding the struggling man over the edge of the roof. "Pieces of shit who can't play fair. Well, there's only one thing fuckers like you understand."

The (former) gang leader gasped for breath as Kiryu punched him repeatedly in the gut, still keeping a one-handed grip on his neck that prevented him from falling ten stories.

"You stay the fuck away from my friends, you got that?" Kiryu whispered in the man's ear. "You stay away, or Kiryu Kyosuke is going to teach you what it _really_ means to be satisfied."

Kiryu slackened his grip a bit after that, allowing the bastard to take a few breaths. This allowed him to slowly reply, "F…Fine. Have your fun, kid. But this ain't gonna last. Even if I go down there's a thousand guys just like me waiting to take revenge…and that's not even if Security comes and hauls your asses to jail. Which they will."

Kiryu's temper had begun to rise as the other man denigrated Team Satisfaction's great victory, and it went absolutely white-hot the moment he heard the word "Security."

"_Nobody's_ taking this away from us!" Kiryu screamed at the man. "Not your Gang, not any of the others, and _definitely_ not fucking Security! You got that?! _You got that?!_"

[-]

And for quite a while, nobody _did_ try to take away their victory. Or at least…nobody succeeded.

But that didn't make victory any more enjoyable.

Kiryu had always thought that the Satisfaction he'd been building up to all his life would come to a climax once they controlled all of Satellite. But if that was the case, Satisfaction was proving…not to be very satisfying.

Kiryu simply couldn't see where things had gone wrong; why Kiryu felt so damn _empty,_ while his friends cheered and laughed and bumped fists at their success.

It'd been a worthy goal, hadn't it? And they'd certainly managed it, and then some…right? Dammit, they'd dominated _everyone_ in their path! Took control of the whole fucking island! Shouldn't that be _enough?!_

Kiryu sighed as he listened to the Music, as Kiryu always did whenever he couldn't make up his mind on how to feel. While Kiryu still kept his old record player in working condition, he largely worked off a couple different boomboxes now, and Kiryu frowned with irritation as he started one up only to hear the last few notes sound from the speakers.

Nobody ever wants to hear the _end_ of a song, Kiryu reflected with a frown. Enjoyment of the Music – of any music – came only in the moment, and when it was over there was _never_ Satisfaction. Only a fervent desire to replay the song, and try to recapture the bliss that rapidly slid away in any moment of silence.

Replay…

"Guess what, guys?" Kiryu said to the rest of his team, who he found celebrating with some cards and some drinks. "Things aren't over for us! They _never_ have to be over."

"Err…what do you mean, dude?" asked Crow, an eyebrow raised. "We've won, haven't we? Nowhere to go from here."

"We've won _now,_ yeah…but they'll be back! They'll always be back!" Kiryu explained, not entirely understanding why the others weren't sharing in his excitement. "There'll always be guys to crush in Satellite…the old gangs looking for revenge, or new ones that think they can fuck with us. We need to _keep_ showing everyone out there that we're the hardest bastards on the island!"

Jack said nothing to this, merely walking to Kiryu's room and turning the Music – flowing freely through the open doorway – down to a much lower volume. Yusei, meanwhile, hesitantly responded, "I can sort of see what you're talking about, Kiryu. There won't have been much point in liberating Satellite if we just sit back and let it backslide. But what do you suggest…policing the streets ourselves 24/7? Even we can't be everywhere at once."

Kiryu just smirked and replied, "We can try."

And try they did. Despite a few other muted protests, Team Satisfaction tended to defer to Kiryu's judgment as a matter of course, and Kiryu pushed them to their limits in taking out every last straggler of the "old Satellite." Kiryu made it explicit to his once and future teammates: the only Duel Disks he wanted to see functional on the entire island were the four on their arms.

Restaurants, bars, barber shops…Kiryu led them on raids against every place that could conceivably hold a duelist or two. True, there wasn't _always_ a gang member (former or current) who materialized out of their missions, but Kiryu's hunches tended to be right more often than they were wrong, and even so Kiryu didn't see the harm in roughing up a few small-fry a bit, if it meant getting Satisfaction.

"We're not done yet!" Kiryu would always shout, laughing jovially as one Duel Disk after another exploded on their erstwhile owners' arms. "They want to take Satellite away from Team Satisfaction! We'll show them who fucking owns this island!"

If Kiryu was paying more attention to his friends during that period, he might have seen the signs. Grand declarations of purpose and calling, which had once elicited cheers, were increasingly being met by sighs and rolling eyes. Crow and Jack, at least, were no longer speaking during their duels – dutifully taking out whoever Kiryu pointed them at, but doing so without a trace of enjoyment or even interest.

Hell, Jack had just straight-up _disappeared_ for over a week as they swept back over Zones X and G, returning without an explanation a while later and refusing to speak to Kiryu about where he'd gone, or why.

But the point of no return hadn't truly arrived until they made their final assault on Zone F.

Zone F had been Team Insect's territory, once upon a time – a useless band of nobodies that seemed to come into control of the place almost by accident, and who Kiryu wouldn't have even bothered crushing the first time around had it not been for completion's sake. But word was going around that a few of their guys had escaped Team Satisfaction's assault, and if those rumors were true then it was simply time to finish the job.

It had seemed like a perfectly standard "mission." What meager scraps of Team Insect that remained went down almost _insultingly_ easy, the cowards unsuccessfully attempting to flee from what they knew to be certain defeat. But Kiryu didn't let them. As Kiryu told his team, anybody else wielding a Duel Disk was an enemy.

And Kyosuke Kiryu extended no mercy to _his_ enemies.

But then…then, Kiryu had heard Crow's cry of frustration. Kiryu was too far away to make out the words his friend was speaking, but the cause was obvious as a scrawny little runt with a Team Insect shirt came running into Kiryu's path.

Kiryu cracked his knuckles, grinned, and latched the fucker's Duel Disk to his.

Kiryu wasn't entirely sure _what_ the piece of shit had done to Crow, but whatever it was he made sure to repay it tenfold. The kid barely even put up enough of a fight to make it worth it, so it probably wasn't that the redhead had been beaten; even an awful hand couldn't make Crow lose to someone _this_ pathetic. Maybe the little bastard cheated?

The thought made Kiryu stomp what remained of the kid's Duel Disk into pieces, chuckling as the worthless little fuck gaped up at him. Kiryu would teach this pussy the consequences of trying to pull one on a member of Team Satisfaction.

Kiryu raised his foot back up again, still laughing through clenched teeth. "There's no room for weak fucks like you in the dueling world," Kiryu muttered, before bringing his boot down onto the kid's head.

Or at least Kiryu would have, had Crow not come out of nowhere and tackled him to the ground first.

"Hurry and run, kid! Get outta here!" shouted Kiryu's teammate, the kid hastening to do exactly as he was told.

"What the…what the Hell are you _doing,_ Crow?!" Kiryu yelled back, his fist sinking hard into Crow's gut. It'd been a reflexive move, and Kiryu regretted it as soon as the blow connected, but the damage was done – Crow stared back at him with a glare of utter disgust.

Which…only infuriated Kiryu more. What right did _Crow_ have to look betrayed?! Kiryu wasn't the one who'd just turned traitor for the sake of some worthless asshole they didn't even fucking know! Kiryu had just been trying to help!

"You _fucking_ little…!" and another raised fist were as far as Kiryu got toward expressing that idea, however, before Jack caught his arm and Yusei pulled a struggling Crow away. The latter broke free soon after, however, and before Kiryu knew it he was being screamed at about "the honor of the duel" and how they had no right to be taking that away from others and…

And then those three words, striking Kiryu like bullets.

"Count me out," said Crow, and he walked away without another word.

Kiryu couldn't believe what he was hearing; couldn't believe what he was _seeing_. "Aren't we a team?!" Kiryu protested to Crow's retreating back. "Crow…aren't we _friends?_"

But not only did these words fail to reach the first deserter…but they were followed up swiftly by a second. "Jack, wait!" Kiryu cried in vain as the stoic blond wordlessly turned away, and began to leave as well. But neither of the two ever looked back, and in increasing desperation Kiryu turned to the last person he had left to hold onto.

"Yusei, please…we're a team, right? We're friends…_right?!_" Kiryu pleaded with the one friend who remained at his side. If Yusei too gave up on him…Kiryu didn't even want to consider it. There wouldn't be a point in going on anymore, if that was the case.

Yusei didn't say anything aloud, but eventually he gave a short, silent nod.

Note for note, the exact same one he'd given when Kiryu first suggested Team Satisfaction, all those months ago.

[-]

In the immediate aftermath of the Zone F fiasco, Kiryu was torn between overwhelming relief and overwhelming misery.

The former and the latter were, of course, inextricably linked. Kiryu had three friends in his life – no more, no less. The perfect companions and the perfect teammates. And each and every one of them, a man Kiryu would be willing to put down his life for.

So to see two of them just…_walk away_ like that…

It hurt. Holy shit, it hurt worse than anything Kiryu had ever experienced in his life.

Well…experienced _so far._

That's where the relief, and at the same time the worst possible pain, came in. Jack and Crow were (Had been? No…Kiryu _refused_ to use the past tense!) Kiryu's _friends,_ and in-and-of-itself that term meant a tremendous amount. But Yusei Fudo was…more than that.

He'd been the first, and the greatest. When Kiryu needed to confide in someone, he went to Yusei. When Kiryu needed someone to cover his back in a fight, he went to Yusei. When Kiryu just wanted a buddy to hang with and listen to the Music with…he went to Yusei. Always Yusei.

Kiryu tried to convince himself – with limited success – that Yusei had had ample opportunity to betray him too, and yet had refused. But that didn't stop Kiryu from worrying.

After all…Kiryu still had no idea what had moved Crow and Jack to abandon them. What if it happened again? Kiryu had taken _some_ precaution by tracking that stupid fucking kid back down again and kicking the crap out of him (it _was_ all his fault, of course), but Kiryu had no way of knowing if that would be enough.

And the idea of living without Yusei in his life…of losing the first and now only friend in Kiryu's entire life…was such a horrific prospect that Kiryu was willing to do _anything_ to avoid it. Kiryu didn't think he could survive on his own anymore.

Kiryu didn't want to be alone.

Consequently, as he and Yusei alone continued to clean out Satellite over the next few weeks, Kiryu found himself tossing around the question of just what had gone wrong more and more frequently. Kiryu's mind perpetually oscillated between resentment toward the traitors for daring to leave, and a fierce longing in his heart for their return…often crossing both in the same train of thought.

In his more generous moments, though, Kiryu _did_ try to search for someone or something else to blame – something that would make their betrayal make _sense._ Sometimes Kiryu blamed the Team Insect pussy, but in the back of his mind Kiryu knew that didn't quite explain it; after all, the kid wasn't around any more, and yet Crow and Jack hadn't seen fit to return.

Other times, Kiryu cycled through a number of "alternative suspects" upon which he could focus his ire. Everyone from the other Gangs to those fat-cats on the other side of the bay to that slobbering moron who ran the bar on the next block were considered as potential reasons why Crow and Jack had so suddenly taken leave of their senses.

But it wasn't until Satellite was changed forever that Kiryu managed to deduce the _real_ reason.

Kiryu watched them with disgust as they swarmed over the Satellite, like ants bursting from their hill. Security had always been in Satellite, of course, but they'd always been somewhat passive in their operations – only coming out in full force when something, like the Daedalus Bridge, actively threatened their imagined order.

But lately the fuckers had become increasingly proactive, moving under the banner of what they called "Operation Sweeping Justice." The goal of the exercise, according to the propaganda they blared to the factory workers and the bums in the gutters alike, was some crap about "making the streets safe again" by eliminating every Duel Gang on the island once and for all.

Obviously, this stuff was total bullshit, since that was _exactly what Team Satisfaction had been fucking doing for fucking months!_

But instead of thanking them for basically doing their job for them, the pigs with Security instead move to reign in on Team Satisfaction's turf. With absolutely no regard to the partition of the Zones or how things _worked_ in the Satellite, the bastards pretty much just busted down whatever the Hell they felt like, and took down every duelist in their path.

In short…they were using cards, Duel Disks, and D-Wheels to bully and oppress everyone weaker than them, just so they could expand their turf and enforce their fucking will upon others.

Which, Kiryu realized with a laugh, made them no different from a Duel Gang themselves. Just _bigger._

In his darker moments, Kiryu had come close to agonizing that the departure of Jack and Crow might have been _his_ fault, somehow. Kiryu couldn't possibly see _why_ – he'd done nothing but give and sacrifice for the team's sake since they first became friends, and Kiryu thought they of all people would at least understand that.

But in watching Security rampage across the island (_their_ island), Kiryu realized that the problem _was_ in fact his fault…if only indirectly. Kiryu had been making the mistake of sending his teammates against the smallest of the small-fry, in those weeks after Zone M fell. Quite simply, Crow and Jack had just gotten _bored_…and who could blame them?

As leader, it was Kiryu's job to select the right targets of the greatest dueling team in the history of the game, and Kiryu was man enough to admit it: he'd fucked that job up.

But it wasn't too late to fix things. Not by a long shot.

[-]

"What are you saying, Kiryu?!" Yusei shouted, his eyes wide in shock. "You want us to go up against Security?"

"Yes…I've finally found the final enemy of Team Satisfaction," said Kiryu, his fingers steepled as the sun set behind him. Kiryu thought it achieved the proper dramatic effect.

"Final enemy? What do you mean?" Yusei asked.

"Only by defeating them will our conquest of Satellite truly be complete," Kiryu explained, feeling so relieved that he felt like shouting even as his voice stayed low and even. After those last, horrible days spent alone, nobody outside of Kiryu's own mind sharing in the simple truths he'd come to realize, it felt so good to finally make someone _understand._ The three were the only people in Kiryu's entire life who had _ever_ understood, after all.

"Yusei…get Jack and Crow for me," Kiryu went on, his eyes gleaming with excitement. "We'll crush them all. The four of us, together!"

Kiryu had been expecting Yusei to whoop and holler at this command, or at least to nod and carry it out as he always did – with perfect efficiency and a lot of heart. At worst, Kiryu had been expecting his closest friend to ask for further clarification as to where he might find their errant comrades.

What Kiryu _hadn't_ expected was for Yusei to slam his hands upon the table separating them, his tone alarmed and exasperated.

"Don't you _understand,_ Kiryu?!" Yusei exclaimed; Kiryu noted the emphasis, and didn't much care for it. "You must know this is suicide!"

Kiryu tried not to let his shock at these words show. Instead Kiryu remained outwardly calm as he attempted to goad Yusei back into the correct way of thinking.

"Are you really pussying out, Yusei?" Kiryu asked. Appealing to Yusei's pride as a duelist seemed the simplest course of action.

But Yusei, again, surprised Kiryu…and not in a good way. He shouted his leader's name in frustration, and picked him up by his shirt, before letting go a few seconds later and sighing deeply.

Then he began to speak…and Kiryu's world began to rip in two.

"Kiryu…I can't be with you anymore," Yusei murmured, his gaze turned downward. "You'll have to do this one on your own. You go down this path, and…and I'm leaving the team. I'm leaving _you._"

Then, like the others, he turned away without a second glance. And like the others, though Kiryu called out his name with increasing volume…he never once turned back.

[-]

If Jack and Crow leaving him had made Kiryu depressed, he'd expected that losing Yusei would've made him feel downright suicidal. At first it puzzled Kiryu that it very much didn't.

Eventually, however, Kiryu realized where he'd just gone wrong: actions spoke louder than words, and Yusei hadn't been able to take Kiryu's threats upon Security seriously as a result.

Crow, Jack, and (especially) Yusei couldn't possibly have left Kiryu forever. It just wasn't in them to abandon him – to _betray_ him – like that. They'd return in time. But now it was clear that it would take more than just a few words and promises to make that happen.

Which made sense. Speech had never satisfied Kiryu the way that conflict, whether by fists or by cards, ever had. Without actions to back them up, Kiryu's vow to take down Security in Team Satisfaction's glorious Last Duel meant nothing; empty lyrics without a melody.

So Kiryu got to work.

Fortunately, Kiryu already had the best damn weapon in Satellite at his fingertips: a full and thorough understanding of what made Duel Disks tick. Having worked out a mechanism to detonate explosives in Duel Disks using his cords, it was child's play to adapt the trigger from a duel loss to a radio signal emitted by Kiryu's own "master" disk.

The next step, then, was casing the place. Kiryu resisted his initial urge to just run in the front door and start blowing shit up, damn the consequences – whatever he stated outwardly, Kiryu _had_ learned a thing or two from the cautious-by-nature Yusei, and so he knew that in the long run it was better to plan this crap out for one massive strike, rather than waste time and energy on impulse.

So Kiryu waited weeks, observing every movement he could in and out of Security's main headquarters and writing up his best approximation of a duty roster from his findings. It wasn't perfect, but eventually Kiryu felt he had a pretty good idea how best to smuggle in his rigged Duel Disks without being noticed.

The details weren't all that important, not that Kiryu remembered them all that well…but the point was that there soon came a night when Kiryu was standing back, a safe distance from the building, and shaking with raucous laughter as several grunts wheeled a cart of confiscated Duel Disks directly into the heart of their headquarters.

Kiryu had thought of bringing the Music along to commemorate the occasion…but ultimately he decided against it. Instead, Kiryu just hummed it.

"Trap Card, activate!" Kiryu said, sliding in the card that served as the detonation signal.

There was a split-second after this when nothing happened. Then fire and ash began to fill the sky.

Kiryu had always liked loud noises – he certainly tended to play the Music, _any_ music, at volumes rather greater than most – and the enormous _BOOM!_ that followed was nothing short of glorious. Already Kiryu could see people fleeing from the blast below, scattering away like ants from a magnifying glass, with their cries of panic punctuated by the alarms of numerous emergency vehicles.

God, it was fucking _epic!_

"Let the dueling begin, Security!" Kiryu cried out, laughing gleefully at his triumph. "Time for Satisfaction!"

And Kiryu damn well meant it. Whatever his "friends" had said, Kiryu had proven it possible: that Security _could_ be crushed, even at their very heart. It was proof not even Jack or Crow could possibly deny. And it would mean their return for certain.

Now it was just a matter of waiting…and of not getting caught.

[-]

Kiryu got caught.

Well…sort of. Kiryu knew the streets of Satellite better than just about anyone – certainly better than any pampered dog working for Security – and so it hadn't been difficult to give them the slip for the first few weeks after his devastating first strike.

But even fugitives needed to eat, and Kiryu had to admit that he'd underestimated Security's resourcefulness. With an island-wide manhunt out for the leader of Team Satisfaction, they'd seen fit to plant Officers or their damn snitches in most of the bars, restaurants, and grocery stores in Satellite. Sometimes Kiryu got by on pure luck, his face unrecognized under his hood as he pocketed some beer or some ramen…but it was only a matter of time before that luck ran out.

Soon enough Kiryu was running for his life, calls going off all around him from traitors willing to sell out their savior in exchange for a paltry reward. Kiryu made it out of the store in which he'd been spotted, at least, but Security came en-force, their D-Wheels circling the entire city block and rapidly closing in.

Kiryu didn't often much recall weather. It very rarely seemed like a particularly notable detail, and Kiryu tended to have more important things to commit to memory, anyway.

But Kiryu remembered _that_ night.

Rain pounded the pavement in a torrent, coming down like ice and weighing down Kiryu's clothes against his skin. In the end Kiryu discarded his waterlogged cloak outright, throwing it at a pursuing Security vehicle and diving into a nearby alleyway. It would've reminded Kiryu of the day he met his friends, if not for that rain; as it was, it meant Kiryu was running almost completely blind, no longer possessed of the time to think about where he was going or what he would do next.

That was how Kiryu had ended up in an abandoned apartment complex, surrounded on all sides as Security dogs shouted at him to pussy out and surrender to them. Kiryu offered them no response – that was all they deserved.

Slumping against the wall, Kiryu withdrew his deck and slowly shuffled through the cards, his expression cold. Absent his team, Kiryu's monsters, Spells, and Traps were the only companions he had in attaining Satisfaction, and if it had to be just them versus Security's fullest might…then so be it.

The greater the odds that Kiryu could beat, the sooner Team Satisfaction would again be as one. The sooner the Music would sound its rightful harmony.

The sooner…the sooner…

The door slammed open.

A window shattered.

And Kiryu's world was once again perfect.

"I knew it!" Kiryu cried out ecstatically as his teammates gathered around him, their Duel Disks primed and ready. It was all happening so fast that Kiryu's emotions could barely keep up. "I knew you guys wouldn't abandon me. We're Team Satisfaction!"

Kiryu's friends did not join in his laughter, although Kiryu didn't notice. "Kiryu, what the Hell are you doing?" demanded Jack.

"We're here to…" began Crow, but Kiryu cut him off. Kiryu didn't need to hear this now. All that mattered was that they were finally together again. Back together with Kiryu.

"The gang's all here!" Kiryu said jovially, pulling his team into a group hug. Then Kiryu proceeded to the window and addressed the fuckers below, drinking in the sight of their spotlights and the sound of their sirens as if they were announcing their imminent victory. Even the heavy rains felt satisfying now.

"This is it: the Last Duel of Team Satisfaction!" Kiryu announced to the worthless bastards, his laughter continuing to spill out with greater and greater enthusiasm. "Come on, if you pussies think you can take us! Come on and _duel!_"

But Kiryu's laughter quickly began to fade as he heard sounds coming from the other side of the room. Turning around, Kiryu saw the unthinkable: the Duel Disks of Jack, Crow, and Yusei – activated and set for battle not two minutes ago – being placed by their owners onto a table of rotten wood.

Kiryu's mouth opened and closed a few times in response to this; Kiryu had no words to articulate what he was feeling right now. Finally Kiryu shook his head hard and yelled, "Hey! What the fuck are you doing?!"

When none of them replied, Kiryu started forward, growing more furious by the second. "Aren't we going to fight together?!" Kiryu went on. "What about our Last Duel, dammit?!"

"Open your eyes, Kiryu," Jack responded, his usually passionate voice staid and emotionless.

"You don't stand a chance in Hell if you go up against Security head-on," Crow added, adopting the same tone.

There was no anger in either of their voices – not anymore. Just the weary impatience of parents scolding an overindulgent child.

"You…you guys…" Kiryu murmured weakly, unsure of what else to say. Kiryu's mind was quite literally shutting down as their words pounded against him one after the other, like waves on sand.

"Kiryu, you need to get out of here," said Yusei. It wasn't uttered like a request.

Which didn't prevent Kiryu from clinging to it as just that…and rejecting it accordingly. "Now that sure as Hell wouldn't satisfy me!" Kiryu exclaimed, making one last appeal. It didn't make sense…they were supposed to _understand_ once Kiryu set them against the last opponents worthy of the greatest duelists on Earth. But if they needed just a bit more of a push…

"We can say we defeated Security! We can say we dominated _all_ of Satellite! No one will ever match us!" Kiryu implored them, getting into each of their faces in turn with clenched fists and unblinking eyes. "Let's play our Last Duel, guys! Let's _go!_"

Another few beats of silence.

Then Jack declared, with a note of finality, "We no longer share the same goals."

"Wh…What did you say…?" asked Kiryu in a low voice. It was bad enough that they didn't want to join Kiryu in _this_ particular mission to attain Satisfaction…but if they no longer understood the importance of attaining it at _all?!_

"Besides that, we're still your friends," Yusei stated, changing the subject. "We want to save you from Security. Kiryu, please…"

But Kiryu wasn't listening. Kiryu wasn't even _remotely_ listening.

In fact, for the first time since Kiryu had met them, Kiryu was staring at the members of Team Satisfaction – no, _not_ Kiryu's team, but three traitorous strangers, as horrible and as deceitful as any other people on Earth – and hearing nothing. No music. No harmony.

Silence.

"How…how could it end up like this…?" Kiryu whispered to himself, as he backed into the opposite wall. "I…I…with _all_ of you…"

But Kiryu didn't complete that thought…not that Kiryu had anything to complete it _with,_ anyway. Because at that moment explosions rocked the base of the building, and Kiryu stumbled to the ground as smoke flooded through the nearest windows.

"Security is beginning their raid!" shouted Yusei, and without any further discussion the four of them all turned to flee.

If Kiryu had been capable of any conscious thought at that time, he might well have decided not to run with them. But Kiryu had been fleeing from the scourge of Security for years, and with his world falling to pieces around him, Kiryu was momentarily acting upon pure instinct.

But as soon as the team – the _former_ team, rather – got separated in the midst of the torrential rains, and Kiryu found himself running into an alley without any obvious path for escape, Kiryu began to again contemplate just that.

"They expect me to run from Satellite? But to _where?_" Kiryu demanded of nothing in particular as he scanned his surroundings for a way out of this death-trap. Kiryu found none.

And really…wasn't that just a fucking _brilliant_ metaphor? Kiryu had started Team Satisfaction in the first place with the understanding that they'd never, ever leave Satellite. It had never even been on their radar, and for good reason.

Kiryu could count the number of successful escapes he'd hear about on one hand. And the ones where the escapees had lived to see the next year were even lower.

So if Kiryu was expected to just _give up_ on any hopes of satisfying himself on this fucking island…then what the Hell was even the _point_ of going on?!

As if in answer to Kiryu's mental cry of anguish, a Security Officer pulled up with his D-Wheel into the alley, flashing his lights against Kiryu's face with a smug grin. Kiryu's face, in turn, twisted to reflect the expression with tenfold intensity.

"I guess…I'll just have to fight you myself, then!" Kiryu declared to the cocky son-of-a-bitch, readying his Duel Disk. Kiryu, admittedly, didn't have a plan for beyond this moment…but for the moment what remained of his higher mind was saying to Hell with plans.

Kiryu _would_ have his Satisfaction. No matter how many friends abandoned Kiryu. No matter how many traitors backstabbed Kiryu. No matter how much the whole damn world wanted to fuck with the life of Kiryu.

Even if it was just for this one moment…Kiryu _would_ be fucking satisfied.

[-]

It had all happened so fast.

The Officer was a pussy-ass punk. He'd played exactly one decent card in their duel, and that was _Montage Dragon_…and so, once Kiryu destroyed it with a simple _Reactive Armor,_ the dumbass had been left with no hand and no way to come back.

So he'd chosen to just up and ram Kiryu with his D-Wheel instead.

Kiryu had been momentarily shocked by the Security dog's sudden burst of aggressiveness, but he wasted no time questioning it; the important thing was fighting back. First Kiryu leaped out of the way, grabbing onto an overhanging ledge and swinging himself onto the Officer's D-Wheel.

Kiryu placed him in a headlock, intending to subdue him quickly…but once more Kiryu was surprised by the man's unending idiocy, as without warning he began driving forward full-throttle, his throat still held tight in Kiryu's arms.

The result was unavoidable. The two of them crashed straight into a wall of aged brick, and while the bike itself span off a good distance away, both men tumbled to the ground in a heap. The Security Officer went first, hitting his head and immediately knocking himself out.

Kiryu was out-of-breath, and in pain from his ribs…but otherwise he recovered far more quickly. And as Kiryu looked upon the unconscious Security Officer, a minor amount of blood spilt from what looked like a broken nose but otherwise with no signs of serious injury, Kiryu began to grow angrier and angrier.

Kiryu thought he might have picked up something…something to teach this cheating, conniving, fascist pig some manners. Nothing more than that. Kiryu might have said something too, but he also might have imagined that. It wasn't really important.

Because at that moment, apparently jumping to the worst possible conclusion, the least likely figure Kiryu could ever have imagined tackled him to the ground and pinned him with his own body.

"_Stop!_" cried out Yusei Fudo as he wrestled with Kiryu, ultimately coming out victorious and managing to hold Kiryu down.

"Let _go,_ Yusei!" screamed Kiryu in turn, struggling with all his might to get back up. But Kiryu wasn't able to concentrate fully on doing so; the sheer, blinding shock of what was going on here was making it hard to think of anything else.

"We have to crush Security! Yusei, _please!_" Kiryu continued to shout, still unable to comprehend how such incredible men – and there came Crow and Jack coming to "join" them now – could fail to understand something so simple. How they could decide that denying their own Satisfaction wasn't enough…but that they had to quite literally trap Kiryu away from _his!_

Kiryu wanted to scream. Kiryu though he might've. But if Kiryu did…it did Kiryu no good.

Kiryu was hyperventilating as Crow and Jack grabbed him by each arm and dragged him into the nearest empty building – enough so that Kiryu was scarcely able to pay attention to whatever the fuck they were saying. All Kiryu could see was that Yusei was giving them some orders…and then walking away, out onto the main street.

Where the rest of the Security forces were waiting.

The three of them waited there for about a minute in total silence…or at least, that's what Kiryu perceived it to be. Jack and Crow might've been talking, but Kiryu didn't bother listening. Kiryu was too busy stewing in just how many things had gone wrong in the last half-hour…and what the Hell could be going on with Yusei now.

Was he setting up some kind of distraction? Or was he going all-out in this sudden pussification, and just blatantly surrendering like a dickless coward? Or…or could he be…?

No!

Yusei might've surprised Kiryu a million different ways lately, none of them positively…but that was the one line Kiryu knew he would _never_ cross. No one on their team – or at least, what was left of it – would even _consider_ it.

Kiryu's thought processes were once again interrupted, however, as dozens of Security Officers busted through the surrounding doors and flooded in, separating Jack and Crow from Kiryu as they seized them all. The former struggled, clearly irate, but Kiryu did not. Nothing could possibly get worse from here, so what was the point?

Kiryu saw several things as he was being led to the armored truck that would take him away from this place…almost certainly for good. Kiryu saw the ass of an Officer who'd inadvertently hurt himself, being wheeled away on a stretcher. Kiryu saw Jack and Crow being pulled off to the side, leaving a path open for Kiryu to be dragged to his fate.

Kiryu saw Yusei, with the…with the Security Chief…

Kiryu's heart stopped. The Chief was chuckling and clapping Yusei on the shoulder. Giving him the "job well done, son" smile.

Yusei…Yusei had…

Yusei had _betrayed_ Kiryu.

"_Yusei!_" Kiryu screeched at the top of his lungs, now struggling with all his might against Kiryu's captors. Now Kiryu actually had something to _do_…namely place his hands around Yusei's neck and squeeze really _fucking_ hard!

"You…you betrayed me?! _You sold me_ _out?!_" Kiryu continued to bellow as the Security Officers seized him again, forcing him into the vehicle. Kiryu was thrown hard against the floor of the truck, but that didn't stop Kiryu. _Nothing_ was capable of stopping Kiryu now. A blazing, white-hot fury was dominating every last fiber of Kiryu's mind, and _nothing_ mattered but getting to Yusei and ripping out his internal organs one-by-one.

But though Kiryu crawled and groped, clawed and leaped, Kiryu could not get past the steel doors which slammed shut upon him.

Yusei's face, astonished at having been found out in his backstabbing, was the last thing Kiryu saw.

Then it was all darkness.

[-]

Kiryu received the Mark first.

To say the laser _hurt_ would be quite the understatement; Kiryu's skin burned and stung for weeks afterward, every twitch of his face or turn of his head shooting a sharp pang across Kiryu's whole body. But more to the point was what the tattoo represented.

It wasn't at all that Criminal Marks were unusual sights for Kiryu. Kiryu saw them on tons of his opponents, not to mention however many random people in the streets. And of course…Crow had had one. The signature "M" on his forehead, commemorating the one instance where he'd actually served time for larceny.

But for Kiryu…somehow, it was different. Not only did the Security bastards treat Kiryu like shit while he wore it, but inexplicably, so did nearly every one of Kiryu's fellow inmates. Even those with ten times the markings Kiryu had were acting like he was a piss stain on their filthy-ass prison uniforms.

The beatings came daily, if not hourly. Guards broke Kiryu's jaw, smashed his fingers with a hammer, and kneed him in the groin so often that Kiryu couldn't even recall a time when he _wasn't_ in excruciating pain. And again, when Security Officers weren't available to kick the ever-loving crap out of Kiryu…the other prisoners were always willing to pick up the slack.

But what puzzled Kiryu most was what they said when they did it.

"Cop-killer!" they'd shout, before socking their fists into Kiryu's gut.

"You don't fucking _do_ that, you piece of shit!" others would yell, smashing Kiryu's head _hard_ against the wall for good measure.

Similar exclamations followed Kiryu around constantly, and the worst part was that Kiryu had no fucking clue what they were talking about. Were they _seriously_ trying to blame Kiryu for what'd happened to that injured Officer on the day he was arrested?

Because (A) it wasn't Kiryu's fault if the guy's own idiocy had gotten him hurt, and (B) he _wasn't fucking dead,_ anyway!

But somehow, that didn't seem to matter. Gradually, Kiryu got the message. All the bullshit about "cop-killing" and whatnot was just a smokescreen to hide their true intentions: namely, that if you fucked with Security, you got your ass kicked for the rest of your fucking life.

Kiryu might've been able to get through all that abuse, though, if not for one thing: not only was Security intent on taking away his freedom and his dignity…but they were insisting on stealing away any hope Kiryu had for Satisfaction, as well.

The Music? Gone, replaced with beatings. Kiryu's deck? Gone, replaced with more beatings. The simple ability to _enjoy_ going up against the opponents that now surrounded Kiryu nearly 24 hours out of the day? Gone…because Kiryu would always be beaten while handcuffed, or otherwise unable to defend himself.

The one thing Kiryu still had left in his life, in short, yielded _nothing_ for him. No enjoyment, no improvement…_no_ Satisfaction.

And that hurt worse than a hundred broken ribs.

[-]

"Tell me again about the figure in your dreams, Kyosuke-san," said the prison psychiatrist, his voice calm and even.

"Why the Hell should I repeat myself to you? I already said it's not fucking important," Kiryu shot back. "Can't we just send me back to my cell for my next round of ass-kickings, Doctor…err…?"

"Adler. Doctor Frank Adler…though you can just call me 'Professor Frank,' Kyosuke-san," replied the man, his arms crossed behind him as he leaned in closer to observe the utterly drained and exhausted Kiryu. "And I kindly ask that you leave those determinations to me. I need as much data as I can get, and I believe we're nearing a real breakthrough."

Kiryu let out a long sigh.

"Fine, whatever," Kiryu murmured, his face buried in his hands. "The thing was…well, it was _big._ Kinda like a human, but not really. Didn't have a face or even a fucking neck, for one thing. But it had arms and legs, I know that. Because it stretched out its hand and brought it down…down, down, down…until it crushed Yusei Fudo into a bloody fucking pulp!"

"I see," mused Professor Frank, making notes on a clipboard. "And does it make you feel good to watch this…_giant_…murder your friend?"

"He's _not_ my friend! He's a two-faced fucking _snitch!_" bellowed Kiryu, bolting out of his chair and getting into Frank's face. Or at least Kiryu would have done so, were he not handcuffed to the chair in question.

"Of course, Kyosuke-san. My mistake," said Professor Frank, that same small, unwavering smile plastered over his face. "But regardless – do you believe it is this same impulse toward revenge that drove you to kill Officer Yokota?"

Kiryu's eyes went wide, but they did not meet Frank's. Instead Kiryu muttered some things under his breath before snapping, "The fuck are you talking about? That piece of shit isn't dead."

Professor Frank ceased writing for a moment. "Could you repeat that last part, Kyosuke-san?" he asked after a few moments' pause.

Kiryu grunted in frustration, but in shorter tones again stated, "He's…_not_…dead. Unless you're seriously telling me he's enough of a pussy that a broken nose made him kick the bucket. In which case, _his_ fault, not mine."

Another pause, then, "Could you tell me _exactly_ what you remember happening the night you were arrested?"

Kiryu answered these words with a large amount of swearing, but eventually the obscenities subsided and Kiryu begrudgingly laid out everything he could recall. Frank listened intently without responding, merely scratching away at his notes until Kiryu was done speaking.

Their eyes met again. Frank was still smiling – that _never_ seemed to change, to the point where it was downright fucking creepy – but there was a subtle change in his expression that Kiryu hadn't noticed before.

"Let me just get this straight, Kyosuke-san," Professor Frank said, leaning forward slightly. "You recall only harming Officer Yokota accidentally? And then, only inflicting minor injuries?"

"_Goddammit,_ how many fucking times do I have to repeat myself for you? Are you fucking _deaf?!_" cried out Kiryu.

"You don't at all remember holding a large object over him while he was helpless? Bludgeoning his body, violently and relentlessly?" Frank pressed on, the corners of his mouth twitching.

Kiryu's immediate reaction to these questions was to shoot off yet more invectives about Frank's parentage and manner of defecation, and indeed Kiryu already had the first breath of such an insult out of his mouth…but Kiryu found that his lips weren't quite working right. Because in his mind's eye, Kiryu was starting to see a whole lot of red.

Red on the ground…red on Kiryu's hands…red on a large piece of wood Kiryu was bringing up over the Security dog's head, and then bringing back down again…

Kiryu immediately shook his head vigorously to clear away the image. "I know what you're doing, you motherfucking cunt!" Kiryu shouted. "Trying to trick me…put things in my head that didn't really happen! All I should expect from someone working for those fucking pigs!"

"Who says that I work for Security? Sure, I help out time-to-time with their psychiatric evaluations, but my total portfolio is far…grander," replied Frank, who seemed more amused than anything at Kiryu's obscene insults. "But let's not change the subject, shall we? I can't help you unless you're willing to accept what you've done, Kyosuke-san."

"_I…didn't…kill…anyone!_" Kiryu screamed at the top of his lungs. Kiryu was doing his utmost to get out of his restraints, now; he'd never so desperately wanted to get away from someone before.

Because while Professor Frank continued to sit there, gazing upon his charge with detached bemusement, Kiryu's mind was racing. No matter how many times Kiryu repeated to himself that he should just ignore these obvious lies, Kiryu could not help the visions that came unbidden every so often, lingering across his mind's eye like bloodstains. Sometimes literally.

There was the man who had once tried to steal the Music from Kiryu, a knife jutting out of his heart…but _this_ time Kiryu saw his own hands gripped around the handle.

A similar sight then greeted Kiryu, of the long-gone leader of the Magician's Four…but instead of the douchebag stabbing himself, what Kiryu _knew_ to be true, once more the image could not be banished of Kiryu doing the deed himself.

Another flash, and Kiryu's grip on the throat of the Zone M gang leader, the one who had nearly succeeded at murdering Yusei, was released. The man fell ten stories to a highly poetic death, which Kiryu _did_ remember…but Kiryu _hadn't_ done it himself. Kiryu hadn't been sorry about it, but he fell on his fucking _own,_ dammit!

The scene changed yet again, and now it was some kid under Kiryu's heel – a kid Kiryu couldn't even place a name to. After a bit of thought, Kiryu pinged him as the final member of Team Insect; the one who had faced Crow on the day everything had started going to shit. And yeah, Kiryu _had_ kicked the crap out of him after-the-fact…but he deserved it for splitting Kiryu's fucking team!

And Kiryu _hadn't_ killed him!

These images and more, false though they were, continued to flash across Kiryu's mind, and Kiryu was screaming audibly as he fought to dispel them. One after another, blood and knives and pain, so much fucking pain…

"I didn't kill anyone!" Kiryu repeated, thrashing about in his chair. "I didn't kill anyone I didn't kill anyone I didn't kill anyone I didn't kill anyone I didn't _fucking kill anyone!_"

Kiryu was hyperventilating now as his voice faded out from all the shouting, his mind no longer forming coherent thoughts but a fervent, desperate desire to be somewhere else. Kiryu didn't care where. Kiryu just needed these damn lies to _stop._

Because they were really starting to fucking hurt…

"I see. Thank you for your time, Kyosuke-san," Professor Frank said with a small bow, before heading to a door and knocking. "Armstrong-sama, may I speak with you for a moment?"

"What can the glorious Takasu Armstrong do for you, doc?" asked the prison's warden as he sauntered into the room, munching loudly and messily on a sandwich as he looked upon Kiryu with contempt.

"While I'll need some further sessions to be certain, the results of my preliminary evaluation indicate that Kyosuke-san is not of sound mind, and should not be kept in a general prison population," Frank told the much larger man, calmly brushing off a bit of tomato which splattered out of Takasu's mouth and onto his shirt.

"Whadaya…mean…by that…?" demanded the warden between mouthfuls.

"I mean to say that the poor boy suffers from powerful delusions," Frank answered, as calmly as ever. If it occurred to him that perhaps this was a conversation best held _away_ from the now-motionless patient, then it did not seem to concern him. "He disassociates himself from those acts which he cannot accept responsibility for; invents wholly different versions of the events which leave him blameless. But this is no mere coping mechanism. He genuinely _believes_ that his 'version' is the absolute truth, and cannot be convinced otherwise."

"So…?" Takasu pressed on, clearly understanding very little of what he was hearing.

"So I do not believe he can be properly held responsible for actions such as bombing Security headquarters or murdering Officer Yokota," explained Frank. "In his mind he knows he did these things, but he rationalizes them as having hurt no one. Not long-term, at least. This is not the mindframe of somebody who can be served by the ordinary criminal justice system."

"Then…what is it you actually _want,_ fancy-pants?" Takasu asked after _finally_ swallowing his monster of a bite. "Just spit it out already."

"Very well, Armstrong-sama," responded Professor Frank, his tones growing slightly sharper though his face remained quite the same. "I humbly request that you allow me to transfer young Kyosuke-san to my offsite treatment facility. It is, I assure you, perfectly secure. And it will allow me to provide him with the…_attention_…he needs in order to heal."

"Sorry doc, no-can-do," Takasu declared, grabbing his belt with both hands and jutting out his chest in a manner that might've been intended as intimidating. "This little piece of meat is on death-row, and his execution's in less than a month. We ain't gonna go out on a limb for a guy we're gonna fry in a few weeks."

A smug grin fell over his face as he added, "Plus, we've got special orders in this one's case. Straight from the Director himself."

"Goodwin-sama authorized this personally?" inquired Frank, one eyebrow moving slightly upward.

Takasu just chortled and replied, "That's right, bitch."

"I…see," Professor Frank murmured, hints of irritation beginning to poke through his mask of impassivity. "I'll have to have a word with him when we next meet. But for the moment, I accede to your…_authority._"

"Glad we got that straightened out. Later, doc," Takasu said to him with a snicker.

"Always a pleasure, Armstrong-sama," Frank returned, before striding out of the room without so much as a look back.

"Alright, now that _that_ little pussy-ass pony show is done with…" growled the warden as the door slammed shut, leaving the two completely alone, "…it's way past time I show you how I treat people who fuck with Security…"

It was a good thing Kiryu's voice was so hoarse as to be barely noticeable, thanks to his oh-so-calming "therapy" session.

Because otherwise Kiryu's screams would've woken up every single inmate in the nearest cellblock.

[-]

Kiryu stopped eating the day after his evaluation.

What was the point, when now even Kiryu's very _mind_ was betraying him? It was all over. The Music had ceased. The duel had ended.

Kiryu was at the end of his rope, and nothing would ever satisfy him again.

Knowing he was right didn't make Kiryu feel any better. In his last days of life Kiryu was going to be remembered as a murderer – worse, as some pathetic lunatic going around killing people, and then blocking out his memories of such.

It was absurd, Kiryu knew. But Kiryu _still_ couldn't get those images out of his head, no matter how hard he tried. And if even _he_ couldn't make the idea go away, then what hope did Kiryu have that the truth would be believed by others?

Kiryu had at best a few weeks left to himself, during which he had nothing to look forward to but further accusations and bloodier beatings. Kiryu had heard his last note, played his last card, and exchanged words with his last friend. Not that Kiryu even _had_ any of those things anymore.

There was nothing left to live for. _Nothing._

So Kiryu ignored the disgusting gruel that the guards shoved into his cell every so often. This seemed to suit them just fine, and after a few days of this they stopped bothering to offer it at all.

And so, with every passing day and every passing night, Kiryu's body grew weaker and weaker. The colors around him became duller and hazier as Kiryu's eyes settled into a constant state of half-lidded exhaustion. Kiryu wasn't even certain if he was sleeping anymore – he was perpetually on the verge of it, but if Kiryu ever _did_ drift off it certainly didn't make him feel any better.

Kiryu's stomach growled terribly, but Kiryu ignored it. Kiryu was _so_ hungry, all the time now, and it _hurt_…but if he gave in, Kiryu knew, it would only hurt more when the inevitable came.

At least this way…Kiryu could end it on his own terms.

[-]

The night that Kiryu died had been a quiet one.

No guard was standing citadel outside Kiryu's cell that evening; as far as Kiryu had been able to overhear, much of the Security personnel were off in the lounge drinking themselves into a stupor, in celebration of a recent bust that'd nailed the notorious German drug-dealer Kristoph Verbrechen.

If Kiryu were in a more capable state, he might've pointed out to anyone that would listen that the only way Verbrechen had been at all vulnerable to their incompetent asses was thanks to Team Satisfaction. Their conquest of Satellite had swept the old drug lords out of power, or at least weakened their hold on certain territories, and by rights Security should be thanking them for years to come.

But it wasn't like it mattered now. Kiryu wasn't going to go down in history as the man who made Satellite a place the regular guy could be satisfied with.

Kiryu was just going to be forgotten. And _that_ was what hurt most of all.

"I…can't get no…Satisfaction…" Kiryu mumbled, his voice barely even sounding human from how parched his throat was.

Kiryu's eyelids slowly began to drift closer to each other. "Cause I try…and I try…and I try…and I try…"

They were fully closed now. "Hey, hey, hey…that's what I say…"

Kiryu kept singing, to the degree he still had the ability to form words…but his brain no longer registered it. It no longer registered hearing _anything,_ actually.

The world was silence. Silence and darkness.

Which is why the Voice took Kiryu so thoroughly by surprise.

_I am an Envoy of the Underworld._

The Voice was loud, and booming, and commanding…and yet Kiryu got the very distinct sense that he wouldn't have been able to hear it at all if he was still connected to the outside world. Only when the Music stopped could the Voice offer words.

_One who is about to pass on, answer Me this. Do you desire to remain in this world, or do you not?_

Kiryu didn't answer. Kiryu _couldn't_ answer. Kiryu just listened.

_To seize that desire is to claim it. To claim new life as a Dark Signer. New life, in which all that you wish shall be fulfilled._

For the last time ever, Kiryu felt a breath of air flow through his lungs…and though he had very little idea of what was going on, Kiryu used it to answer these words.

"There is only one thing that I wish," Kiryu said, his voice weak and growing weaker. "There is someone…I wish to take my vengeance upon. That, and…"

But Kiryu spoke no more.

The body of Kiryu Kyosuke slumped against the wall of his prison cell, little more than a withered, lifeless husk.

[-]

Kiryu awoke again exactly one hour later.

It was accurate to say that Kiryu had spent the intervening time in the palm of a giant, learning what he needed to know to do what needed to be done, but that seemed to so…_undersell_ what Kiryu had just experienced.

For one thing, Kiryu hadn't exactly _spoken_ to Ccapac Apu. Hell, there was no logical reason for Kiryu to even know that name. But Kiryu did.

That hour had been enough for Kiryu to understand everything. What Kiryu had thought to be skirmishes for the fate of a single island – for his own personal Satisfaction, and damn anything else – were in truth an age-old clash of Light and Darkness, playing out on a new battlefield. And Kiryu himself was the agent through which the next stage of that conflict would take form.

Kiryu had always known he was important. Never had Kiryu met anyone else who saw things in quite the same way; who comprehended, fully and completely, the essence of the Music and the world that was built around it.

The closest anyone had ever come was Yusei, which in retrospect made perfect sense. The two had been destined as mortal adversaries from birth…so why should it be surprising that they shared so many things in common?

And it explained too, almost sickeningly well, how his betrayal had come about. Yusei was a Signer – a word which Kiryu hadn't even _known_ that morning, and yet which now filled him with a rage so intense that it threatened to burst forth and burn all of Neo Domino to the ground. He could never be trusted. He could never be regarded as anything but an enemy.

He had to _die._

There was an obvious problem, of course: Yusei Fudo was outside, and Kiryu was not. But that was easily rectified.

The giant still did not "speak" in the traditional sense, but Kiryu heard its Voice in his ear all the same as he effortlessly bent the bars of his cell apart, guiding Kiryu step-by-step. The best analogy Kiryu could come up with, unsurprisingly, was a musical one. The instrumentals in the Music had always "spoken" to Kiryu just as much, if not moreso, than the lyrics themselves; Kiryu hadn't exactly understood the latter for _years,_ after all.

Ccapac Apu was the same – a deity in symphony. Kiryu was certain that no one else would be able to take the subtle intimations from the God's deepest recesses to mean "go there" or "a guard is approaching to your right"…but then, _they_ weren't one with the giant.

Kiryu and his almighty Jibakushin were united: mind, body, and what remained of his shattered soul. And like an intense solo from Keith Richards, it was _glorious._

Empowered by the very energies of a God, Kiryu bounded through the prison at speeds that would've been inconceivable mere hours ago, avoiding the few guards still patrolling the halls and making short work of the ones that couldn't be sidestepped.

One had his neck twisted completely around before he even knew what was happening. Another was kicked so hard into a wall that his guts spilled out.

Kiryu felt quite amused at this turn of events as he broke off a piece of pipe and ran it through the head of the next guard. In trying to peg Kiryu as some kind of psychopathic murderer with their lies, Security had in effect made Kiryu into precisely what they feared.

Although…upon further reflection, 'murdered' probably wasn't the best term. Murder was the act of one human killing another. And if there was one thing Kiryu now definitely _wasn't,_ it was human.

Eh, whatever. Same difference.

Kiryu was outside of the prison's walls so quickly that he almost had to marvel at how long they'd managed to contain him. By that point alarms were sounding all throughout the facility, but it didn't matter in the slightest. Kiryu was finally _free._

And so, for the first time in so very, very long, Kiryu began to laugh. To laugh without nervousness, without insecurity, without the foreboding sense that Kiryu's world could shatter at any moment.

Although…perhaps that was because Kiryu was now perfectly _fine_ with the world shattering. Into as many fucking pieces as possible, preferably.

Still, Kiryu probably had to do something about that. There was so much to get to, now, and having all of Security on Kiryu's ass certainly wasn't going to make things easier. Kiryu could take them, of course; his new powers meant that they were no match. But that would take time – time which would be better spent tracking down Yusei Fudo, and exacting vengeance for 5000 years of betrayal.

As if in response, a sharp note resounded across Kiryu's mind, and the short mental prod that followed brought Kiryu's hand to his pocket, which suddenly seemed far fuller than it had only seconds ago. Withdrawing his fingers, Kiryu now saw that between them were clutched a number of Duel Monsters cards, almost all of which Kiryu had never seen before in his life (heh-heh…_life_) and yet which contained such obvious _power_ that Kiryu's mind was already racing with potential strategies.

Another "note," and Kiryu turned over the top card of the deck. Then Kiryu's smile grew wider.

Kiryu didn't require a Duel Disk to play it. Kiryu just held it aloft and invoked the name. And lo and behold…his God was there by his side.

Towering over the prison at a height greater than many of Neo Domino's own skyscrapers, Ccapac Apu dwarfed the being that had summoned it by a factor of hundreds…and yet, there was no question of the relationship between them. Kiryu understood, and fully accepted, that his full and eternal fealty was to be sworn to this great behemoth's service; this entity of eldritch darkness who had haunted Kiryu's dreams for weeks leading up to his death.

But in return, the Earthbound God would grant boons of great and terrible power to the avatar that had made it manifest for the first time in 5000 years. This was one of them.

The Security Officers, civilian staff, and prisoners alike screamed in fear as enormous hands began to crush them en-mass, the ceilings and walls caving in as shadowy fingers the size of cars brought every last meter of the prison crashing down around them.

And as they proceeded to die off by the hundreds, their souls not even allowed to escape to some measure of afterlife as they were instead siphoned into the great giant, to fuel its unending hunger…Kiryu just continued to laugh. More intensely, and with greater abandon, than Kiryu ever had in life.

_This_ was Satisfaction.

[-]

"You are Kiryu Kyosuke?" asked a man in a cloak.

"Depends on who wants to know," answered Kiryu disdainfully.

After his rather…demonstrative escape, Kiryu had been laying low in the streets of Neo Domino, his God's subtle song telling Kiryu that it was not yet time to pursue his vengeance actively. This made sense to Kiryu, even if he wasn't all that happy about it; Yusei was still in the Satellite, and Kiryu barely knew enough about this city to make his way around, much less leave it. For now, Kiryu needed to wait for a better opportunity.

It was fortunate, then, that Kiryu no longer needed to eat or drink or sleep. Not to mention the heightening of all of Kiryu's natural senses, and a few others besides. It made it so that, far from being difficult to evade capture, Kiryu would've almost had to go out of his way to even be _noticed_ by the forces currently searching for him. Otherwise the undead young man seemed almost to fade into the shadows that surrounded him.

Which made it all the stranger that this man had located Kiryu so easily.

"Allow me to introduce myself, avatar of the giant's might. My name is Rudger Goodwin," said the stranger, lowering his hood to reveal dark skin and silvery hair…as well as eyes that were as black as the night sky above.

Or as dark as Kiryu's own, for that matter.

"Who…who the fuck _are_ you?" Kiryu demanded, stepping forward to look this strange man directly in the eyes. While the pitch-black sclera and facial markings mirrored, if not matched, those now adorning Kiryu's own visage, seeing the rest of this "Rudger" man's features up-close would likely have nauseated anyone who didn't happen to be Kiryu.

What Kiryu had initially taken as evidence of foreign ancestry was, it became immediately clear, _not_ the man's natural hue. His skin appeared as if blackened by fire, the consistency of ash or charcoal, and the hair…the hair seemed as if all life, and all color, had been sapped from it in one fell swoop.

"I? I was the first of a new breed," replied Rudger, smiling with amusement at Kiryu's tone. "A breed to which you now belong, Kiryu Kyosuke. Welcome, vessel of the great God Ccapac Apu…to the Dark Signers."

And with that, it struck Kiryu with full and unrestrained totality: he was being addressed by a dead man. Why this unnerved Kiryu so much, when he knew intellectually that he was no more than a walking corpse now himself, Kiryu couldn't be quite sure…but Kiryu supposed he never thought _this_ might be what he'd become in the future.

"I…I have some questions," spoke Kiryu, swearing under his breath at his brief stutter.

"I'm sure you do. But walk with me while you express them, if you please," requested Rudger, motioning for Kiryu to follow him. "I don't expect you're ready to travel by geoglyph yet, which means we need to catch a boat very shortly if we hope to make it back to the Satellite before dawn."

That was enough for Kiryu to accede; passage to Satellite, and therefore to Yusei, wasn't something Kiryu was about to refuse right now.

Kiryu found himself struggling to keep in-step with Rudger, despite the other man's greater breadth, as Kiryu proceeded to ask, "So…can you tell me about these 'Dark Signers'? How many others are like you and me?"

"We were each chosen, at the moment of our deaths, to live on as incarnations of the darkness that has blotted this planet for millions of years. Just as you were, my friend," responded Rudger as they walked. "As of now, you are the fourth of our kind to be made manifest. You will meet Demak and Misty soon enough. I think you will like them."

Kiryu thought about that for a moment. Another four-person team, with a mission to change Satellite forever? It was almost _too_ familiar…although Kiryu wasn't sure whether that made him happy or furious.

"Of course, even with the addition of your own strengths, our family will not be complete," Rudger added, in such a way that Kiryu almost had to wonder if the older Dark Signer could hear what Kiryu was thinking. "Still, if my visions are correct…we are at least three years away from Aslla piscu selecting its own avatar. Chacu Challhua…I'm uncertain if it will even be strong enough to take on a host in time. And the condor is entirely a wild card. Uru has never trusted it, and so neither do I."

As Rudger said this he ran one great gloved hand over a marking on right arm, resembling a large spider. While Kiryu hadn't understood most of that last sentence, he figured that "Uru" must be the name of Rudger's own God. He said it with such simple and self-evident reverence, in the same manner that Kiryu always spoke the name of the entity represented by his own, intricate birthmark.

Kiryu did pick up on one other detail in Rudger's musings, however. "Wait, wait…back the fuck up. Three _years?!_" Kiryu couldn't help but exclaim.

"You must learn patience, my young friend," Rudger told him as they came to the edge of the bay, gesturing silently to a small boat emblazoned with that same spider symbol. "The first lesson you will take to heart as a Dark Signer is that the dead have _nothing_ but time."

Kiryu didn't particularly like that answer, but he followed Rudger onto the boat all the same.

"Do not worry, Kiryu Kyosuke. The day of your glorious vengeance – of _all_ of our vengeances – shall come sooner than you know," Rudger went on as he directed another cloaked man to start up the vehicle; the man simply stared blankly forward and nodded, his gray-trimmed hood waving in the cool night winds. "I have ascertained enough about you to know that you desire nothing more than the Signer Yusei Fudo's head on a platter. That shall come in time. But destiny has foretold a time and a place for these things, and we must act accordingly."

Kiryu said nothing in response to this, merely sitting upon the rear of the boat and watching the city he'd stared at all his life with a mixture of jealousy and revulsion slip away, as Kiryu returned under cover of darkness to the Hell that had been his whole existence.

[-]

Rudger's headquarters, it had turned out, were…interesting. Certainly it wasn't something Kiryu had ever expected could be found in the Satellite, much less buried under the barren B.A.D. zone.

Everywhere Kiryu turned was another impressive sight, a gothic painting by some presumably long-dead European guy or a sculpture of monstrosities barely capable of being captured in a single form. There was a thick layer of cobwebs over just about everything, though Kiryu found that to be more likely a deliberate aesthetic choice, given the identity of the man now leading Kiryu through the halls.

One room they passed even seemed to contain, so far as Kiryu could tell from his brief glance, every single Duel Monsters card ever printed and a few besides. But Kiryu didn't stop there. Instead Kiryu followed Rudger to a door just down the hall, which the other Dark Signer opened with a flash of his birthmark.

"It is time, my fellows! Welcome unto you our new brother…Kiryu Kyosuke, bearer of the giant's mark!" he announced dramatically as they walked in. One man, in a cloak with golden trim, came up to offer his hand.

"Demak Kera, avatar of the monkey God," he introduced himself. "I hope that your death was not too distressing."

Kiryu gingerly accepted the handshake, though not without tensing up first. Kiryu's attention then turned briefly to the young woman still at the table which took up most of this chamber, who gave a curt nod in Kiryu in recognition before returning to a thick stack of papers.

"So…what's your deal, bitch? Owl God or something?" quipped Kiryu, a little irritated at his silent rebuffing.

"Lizard, actually. But let's get something straight, before we go any further. You do _not_ call me 'bitch,' got it?" said the female who, by process of elimination, must be Misty. She still did not look up from her paperwork, but Kiryu had clearly struck a nerve.

"Shit…this is why I hate working with women. Overreact to _everything,_" Kiryu said, only half-seriously; getting a rise out of this unknown Misty was looking to be quite a bit of fun.

"Do not be so quick to judge, my friend," Rudger cut in – probably not a moment too soon, given the purple glow starting to surround Misty's hands. "As time passes here and you get to know the rest of our 'little family,' you may find that they fascinate you more than you'd expect. Demak, for example, used to be a high-ranking Industrial Illusions employee. His knowledge of Duel Monsters is probably second only to the late Pegasus Crawford or Hayato Maeda themselves. And Misty was quite the genius in her youth. Graduating at seventeen with a double-major, plus modeling and dueling careers on the side, makes for quite the impressive resume…even before you add her selection as vessel for the Jibakushin Ccarayhua."

"And as I've never gone to a single day of school, all you just said pretty much means jack-shit to me," Kiryu replied, though he was not particularly angry. Kiryu did like saying it, though.

As for Misty, she finally put down the papers and sighed deeply, before turning to the man in the red-trimmed cloak. "Rudger, may I have a word? Privately?" she asked.

"Of course, child," responded Rudger, motioning her over to the other side of the room. "What is on your mind?"

"Are you…absolutely certain that _this_ is the one Ccapac Apu chose?" she whispered, in such low tones that Kiryu would've never been able to overhear them in life. But another prod from his God and Kiryu was feeling remarkably in-tune with his new senses, even if he still didn't quite understand all of them.

"He has the mark, and more to the point he has already managed to summon his Jibakushin into reality. Kiryu is our next member; there is no question about it," said Rudger.

"But he's…he's a…have you _seen_ his physiognomy? He isn't well!" Misty continued to murmur harshly. "He has the one sign we care about, but so many others too. Impetuousness, arrogance, pride, a lack of understanding of his limits…these are not the makings of a good compatriot!"

"Then you should do your utmost to teach him better in the months ahead," Rudger rejoined, this time more coldly. "His aid will be invaluable as we approach our endgame. He was formerly a companion of two of the Signers…one of whom he has sworn a bloody vendetta against, and both of whom are destined to meet and join forces with Aki Izayoi within the next three years."

That last statement silenced Misty completely; Kiryu made a mental note to ask why at some point, preferably in the most dickish manner possible.

Misty just sighed again – or at least, as close as a being could come to doing so without actually exhaling air – and returned to the table, turning to Kiryu with a shake of her head. "Let's try this again," she said, if partially through gritted teeth. "My name is Misty Lola. Since we don't have any choice in the matter…I welcome you to our home. Such as it is."

"Nice to meet ya…bitch," Kiryu shot back, laughing like a maniac as he did. Kiryu really and truly _didn't_ mean it this time, but it was just so damn fun to play with her a bit.

"Do you…have need of anything from the outside world?" Misty pressed on, choosing to ignore his response. "I've become capable of reliably glamouring my eyes and face so they appear human, and have used that to restart my modeling career at Rudger's…behest. So I can purchase anything that his magic cannot already provide."

Kiryu puzzled over this for a while…then snapped his fingers.

"Could you pick me up a boombox?" Kiryu asked, still recovering from his latest laughing fit. "Something with some kick-ass speakers. I want to _blast_ that shit."

"You want me to get you a…stereo?" repeated Misty, looking bewildered. "Is that seriously the first thing you thought of?"

"Hey, don't look at me. Just saying, this place could use some bitchin' Music," Kiryu said, snickering again.

"I'm telling ya…it'd be _so_ fucking satisfying."


	5. Part V: Carly Nagisa

**I Am Become Death – Carly Nagisa**

_Disclaimer: In case you haven't figured it out yet, I don't own Yu-Gi-Oh! 5D's. All Yu-Gi-Oh!-related characters, settings, etc. are the intellectual property of Kazuki Takahashi._

[-]

_Your pain is the breaking of the shell that encloses  
>your understanding.<em>

_Even as the stone of the fruit must break, that its  
>heart may stand in the sun, so must you know pain.<em>

_And could you keep your heart in wonder at the  
>daily miracles of your life, your pain would not seem<br>less wondrous than your joy._

– **Kahlil Gibran, **_**On Pain**_

[-]

Carly Nagisa hated her mother.

To clarify, there was no longstanding animosity between them; no abuse or neglect or other chronic issue, which would cause an irreparable rift. But right now, at this very moment, Carly hated her mother.

Being a teenage girl raised predominately at home, their dairy farm being the only thing Carly saw regularly apart from school for nearly sixteen years, this was to a degree only natural. Hell, it was expected.

Suzuki Nagisa, for her part, was largely numb to this; Carly had more or less come out of the womb obstinate, pushy, and constantly asking questions of everyone in sight. That didn't stop her from holding her head in exasperation as the bespectacled teenager started back into her.

"C'mon, mom! It's just for one day!" she shouted, her hands balled up into fists that – despite her current anger – both of them knew she would never dare use.

"For the last damn time, no!" Suzuki shot back. "No daughter of mine is running off to a place like…like _that!_"

"Like the city?" asked Carly in disbelief. "But you and daddy used to take me there all the time! What's wrong with me having fun there with my friends just this _once,_ huh?"

"We took you there when you were a _child,_ to play games or take pictures or whatever," said her mother with a shake of her head. "But don't try to pull one over on me. I know what kinds of places teenagers go to 'have fun' in the city."

"It's not like we're gonna be running to…like…some fucking strip club, or anything!" exclaimed Carly, her glasses nearly slipping off her face as she leaned forward. "Just dinner and a little dancing! You know my friends, we wouldn't…"

Her mother raised a hand to cut her off. "I don't want to hear any more about this," she declared sternly. "You're not going, and that's _final!_"

Carly wanted to respond to this, but white-hot anger pushed out any intelligent retort she could come up with. So instead she simply let out a loud wail of frustration and stormed off, slamming the front door behind her as she ran off into the fields.

Just seconds later, the kitchen door opened as well – Keisuke Nagisa having chosen that exact moment to enter with a large milk jug held in his arms. The timing was _so_ perfect, in fact, that Suzuki couldn't help but wonder whether he'd just been waiting outside for his wife and daughter to stop arguing.

"You know, I really don't think it would be _that_ bad to let her go. Just this once," said the broad-shouldered farmer, more or less confirming his wife's suspicions. "I'd be comfortable with it so long as we set a curfew."

Suzuki sighed deeply. "That's because you are absolutely incapable of saying 'no' to your precious little princess," she replied. "So it falls to me to be the bad guy. Every…single…time."

"Queen," he corrected with a smirk as he put down the jug. "My baby girl's a queen, not a princess. Otherwise, that'd imply that _we_ are royalty too. And we are, of course, but simple farming folk."

"Except that 'queen' is _also_ a hereditary title," she couldn't help but point out, if against her better judgment. "It's pretty damn difficult to become a queen without some royal blood."

"Not if she starts up her own kingdom someday," Keisuke responded playfully. "Then she can title herself whatever she wants!"

"I…am not having this conversation with you," said Suzuki with a groan. "Besides, I have a hard enough time trying to convince her to get more involved with the farm without you constantly swelling her head like that. You'd think, considering it's _your_ family that's been working this land for four generations, that you'd give a bit more of a damn…"

"Well, frankly, my dear…no, I don't," admitted her husband, his expression growing a lot more serious. "Carly hates working the farm. There's _no way_ she could ever be happy doing it her whole life."

His voice lowered even further as he added, "Besides…neither of us has any clue how many years I've got left in me. I'd rather spend that time encouraging my baby girl to follow her dreams, than to think she'll be nothing but miserable once I'm gone."

Suzuki sighed again – though this time, in defeat rather than exasperation. "Fine, fine…you've made your point," she murmured. "But, Keisuke…as long as we're on the subject…"

"Nothing new from the doctor, honey," he interjected, fairly certain where she was going. "Just like the last twelve times you asked."

"And _when_ did you last see him?" Suzuki demanded pointedly.

"Err…a couple months ago, I guess?" Keisuke answered, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "No, wait…closer to three, now. I remember it was right before your birthday…"

"Keisuke, you have _leukemia!_" his wife shouted, her eyes going wide at the casual way he was talking about it. "You need to pay closer attention to keeping your appointments regular!"

Her husband just chuckled. "Suzuki, I love you…but you worry too much," he said. "It's not like I'm gonna just drop dead tomorrow."

Under her stern gaze, however, he eventually added, "Okay, okay…if it'll make you feel better, I'll make an appointment with the specialist for next weekend."

She sighed again and nodded. "Thank you, dear," Suzuki told him, before walking back over to the front door and gazing through the nearest window. "And while you're at it…could you do me one other favor?"

She didn't need to specify; it was fairly clear what it was that she felt herself incapable of doing. Not without starting that blowup all over again.

"No problem, honey. I'll have our little queen back here in time for dinner," said Keisuke, pulling his coat back on and heading out the door.

[-]

At present, said "little queen" was sitting by the riverbank, trying to skim stones along the water. "Trying" being the operative term. She'd never been awfully good at it to begin with, and in her current emotional state her aim suffered even further.

Still, it passed the time.

If Carly was to be completely honest with herself (and she would never, ever do so in front of her mother), she'd have to admit that Suzuki Nagisa had at least a shade of a point. Yeah, there probably _would_ be a bit of not-quite-PG dancing when they went clubbing, knowing her classmates…and yeah, she'd heard rumors about _some_ of them buying fake IDs so they could get drinks…

But Carly _herself_ wasn't very likely to participate. She was sixteen, for God's sake! And even _if_ she'd been a little older…she was still Carly Nagisa. The gangly, geeky, unattractive nobody who was just lucky she knew the right people to even get _invited_ on this trip.

Truthfully, she hadn't at all been expecting it. A friend of a friend of her lab partner in biology class was celebrating her sixteenth birthday – and since said birthday girl was pretty much the hottest, richest, and most popular person in school, it'd been the talk of the entire town for weeks.

Ayasato was that kind of town; small enough that everyone knew everyone else, or close to it, and incurably gossipy.

The latter suited Carly just fine, given her proclivities. Ever since she'd received her first camera at the age of eight, she'd gained the reputation of never being found without it (certainly the most benign of the various reputations attached to her). The school paper had seemed the obvious next step, as soon as she was old enough.

But while she did still fill a column in Ayasato High School's weekly paper, out of a sense of obligation if nothing else, she was proud to say that she now played on a larger stage.

It was no great secret that by the year 2024, the vast majority of "traditional" newspapers were either dead or on their last legs. The _Ayasato Gazette,_ unfortunately, was no exception. With a relatively small circulation, limited only to its own rural community and to a couple newsstands in the city, it'd remained just beyond the edge of extinction for years based on two factors.

The first was that the paper was very cheap to produce – relying almost exclusively on stringers and freelancers, all of whom generally accepted lower salaries out of some sense of communal pride. Again…Ayasato was _that_ kind of town.

The other was its longtime editor, Kousuke Kunisaki, who was…well, "dedicated" was probably a good term.

She remembered the day she'd first met him quite vividly. It'd been two years ago. D-Wheels had been a fresh thing back then, and famed stunt driver Hiroto Honda was demonstrating the new line with a cross-country exhibition.

And as luck would have it, one leg of the demonstration had taken Honda and his team straight through Ayasato.

Naturally, as soon as she learned of this, Carly had begged and pleaded with her parents to let her go out and watch the procession. She loved Duel Monsters (well, more _watching_ than _playing_ it; she knew the rules and even had her own deck, but she was no good at it) and she loved shiny new pieces of tech even more, so there was no question that she and her camera were eager to observe.

Finally, they'd relented – and by that, Carly meant that her father had caved in, and her mother had decided arguing further wasn't worth the energy.

Unfortunately, she'd hardly been the only person in town frantic to get a glimpse of celebrity. The sides of the streets were packed with fans of the famed "Steel Samurai"…not to mention all those who'd come out simply to see what all the hubbub was about.

As such, Carly had decided to make what, for a fourteen-year-old, had seemed like a bold and daring move: climbing on top of the nearest roof and taking her pictures from there. By the time the ever-klutzy girl realized the fatal flaw in this plan, however, she was already hanging for dear life from a loose drain pipe.

Thankfully, Kunisaki-sama had been hanging back around the same area in order to take his own shots, and had managed to catch her before she hit the ground. "Carefully there, little missy," he'd said, grinning. "I'd really rather cover 'Stunt Driver Extraordinaire Dazzles Crowd' tomorrow over 'Local Girl Breaks Every Bone in Her Body.'"

Once Carly had taken a moment to catch her breath and process this, her attention had turned to the camera around his neck – one vastly more high-tech and professional than hers. "Are you a reporter?" she'd asked him.

"Guilty as charged," Kousuke had replied with a chuckle. "Used to be a freelance investigative journalist. Did a lot of duel reporting too. But at a certain point, you just get too old for the field, y'know? So I came back home and started my own little paper. You ever heard of the _Ayasato Gazette?_"

Carly nodded. "I read it every day! Don't really know anybody else who does, though…not even my folks…" she'd told him, fidgeting nervously. "Honestly, my friends just think I'm kinda weird for it…"

She looked rather embarrassed, but Kousuke just chuckled in response. "Hey, I'm just glad there's somebody in your generation interested in reading a newspaper, _period,_" he'd said. "Is it merely academic, or do you have a bit of the journalist's bug yourself?"

"Err…yes! Well, I mean, no! But…uh…kind of…" Carly had sputtered in response, shaking her head before appending, a bit more clearly, "I mean…I write for my school paper. But I don't know if that really means anything…"

"It's certainly a good first step," Kousuke had stated thoughtfully. "Though if you want my advice…"

Carly hadn't gotten to hear his advice, though…or at least, not on that particular day. Because at that moment, the entire procession had gone up in flames.

The next few days had been very strange ones. It was rather sobering to think that the death of a celebrity was the most interesting thing ever to happen to her hometown, even if it was probably true. Still, the descent of an international news crew onto Ayasato, for the first time in its history, had put Kousuke Kunisaki's tiny, no-name paper into an interesting position.

The media needed eyewitnesses, and the _Ayasato Gazette's_ throng of stringers and freelancers were ideally placed to provide the necessary coverage.

Unfortunately, it seemed as if every single person Kunisaki-sama had ever employed was present for the exhibition – which meant nearly all of them were recuperating from severe injuries. And the rest hadn't been so lucky.

What all this added up to was genuine demand for a local story that could be circulated globally, and space on the staff for someone new to write it. That was how Carly had gotten the offer.

Kunisaki-sama needed someone fresh to investigate the "catastrophic equipment failure" that'd claimed Hiroto Honda, his entire eleven-man crew, and thirty-five members of the audience; being editor-in-chief, he risked running into some ethical issues if he did the whole thing himself. Carly fit those specifications perfectly, age be damned.

Not that her byline ever exactly _mentioned_ she was a high school freshman, but still.

That week's _Ayasato Gazette_ ended up outpacing the paper's average sales by a factor of over a hundred. Overnight the town became a household name across the world, and the newspaper which had broke the story shot from nearly bankrupt to comfortably successful.

Not everyone had been particularly happy with the article, however. After carefully examining the state of the incident herself, taking down the testimony of thirty eyewitnesses, and holding interviews with every official and investigator willing to talk, Carly had put everything together and determined that the story of said "catastrophic equipment failure" didn't stand up to logical scrutiny.

And that was exactly what she'd written.

Naturally, KaibaCorp hadn't much cared for their official story being accused as a cover-up. But while they'd made their position perfectly clear in several successive calls to Kunisaki-sama (and he'd made _his_ position perfectly clear, and rather vehemently so, in his replies), they'd never gone so far as to file a libel suit.

Still, when he'd turned up dead in his home a little over four months later, apparently overdosed on methamphetamines…

Well, Carly didn't have any proof. But she definitely had her suspicions.

[-]

That had been two years ago. She had a new editor now, who was nice enough but entirely inoffensive. Carly's time with Kousuke Kunisaki as a mentor had been brief, but it'd lasted long enough for his attitude as a firebrand to rub off on her, and so above all she resolved to never stop pursuing the truth.

Ayasato was a small town, without very many secrets…but one by one, she tracked each of them down all the same. Her new editor would often caution her against using overly inflammatory language, but rarely actually censored her; even he had to admit that issues containing her articles sold far better than ones without.

These days she had both a regular news column and a regular opinion column, as well as a responsibility to cover local events as they came. It didn't pay all _that_ well – a competitive salary, for her or any other reporter, simply wasn't in the budget – but honestly Carly would've probably done it for free.

Writing was the only thing in her life that wasn't school or the farm, and that alone was worth a printing press' weight in gold.

"Deep in thought, little lady?" asked a gruff but kind voice, breaking Carly out of her lengthy reverie.

"Oh…hey, daddy," she replied softly, watching as he sat down next to her by the riverside.

"Heard you had a bit of a dust-up with your mom," said Keisuke Nagisa, one calloused hand on his daughter's shoulder. "I always hate to see my two favorite girls fighting. Anything I can do to help settle things?

"Not unless you can get mom to try seeing things from my perspective," Carly murmured. "Just for one damn second…"

"Why _do_ you want to go to this party so badly, sweetheart?" he asked her, smiling warmly. "I'll listen to whatever you have to say."

Carly hesitated for a moment, but eventually gave in; as much as Suzuki got on her husband's case for being unable to refuse his daughter anything, the truth was that it went both ways. _Especially_ when her daddy's eyes shone like that.

"I…well…look, it's not that I _hate_ it around here, okay?" she sputtered out. "It's just…sometimes, I _need_ something different. Everything around here's always the same. Same schedule, same events, same faces. And school isn't much better."

"But you write those big fancy articles now, right?" responded Keisuke. "Surely that must be exciting."

"Not really," said Carly, shaking her head vigorously. "The only article that ever got me _real_ traction was my first one…and _that_ was piggybacking on a tragedy, so it's not like I could really celebrate it. And since then, it's just been covering vegetable contests and bake sales. I mean, I like doing it, don't get me wrong, but…well, it doesn't solve the real problem, does it?"

She turned to face the coming sunset, the twilight refracting off her glasses brilliantly.

"Besides…" she added, "…what I _really_ want, more than anything else in the world, is to be a reporter. Not _just_ a writer."

"And what's the difference, baby girl?" her father asked, turning to face the same way.

"Reporters actually get to go out into the action. They get to pound the pavement, get the interviews, and _make_ a story," Carly explained. "Writing out the article? It's fun, but it's the easy part. It's not what makes me wanna do it. It's not what makes me _need_ to do it."

There was a lengthy silence following this, before Keisuke told her in a quiet voice, "You know that going out with these girls won't solve your problem, either."

"I…I know that," admitted Carly in a whisper, averting her gaze from her father. "I know it's a just a temporary fix, at best. But…well, I guess you could think of it…as a preview? As a test run?"

Keisuke raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean by that, sweetheart?" he asked coolly.

There was another long pause, with Carly visibly tensing up, as if unsure whether she should voice what was on her mind…before finally murmuring, "I wanna move to the city after I graduate."

The other eyebrow rose to match its fellow. "I'd wager you haven't mentioned this to your mother yet," said Keisuke.

Carly gave a snorting, sarcastic laugh. "Oh, right. Given how much she flipped out over me spending _one night_ in Neo Domino, I bet she'd just love the idea of me moving there _permanently,_" she shot back, probably sounding meaner than was intended.

"You know that she just wants you to be safe, right?" her father replied after a moment's pause. "You can't blame her for that."

"She doesn't just want me to be safe. She wants me to be _her,_" Carly replied bitterly. "Shut the hell up, work the farm, meet someone, settle down. Never go anywhere interesting or do anything important."

And then, without thinking, it slipped out. "I hate her…" she added in a murmur.

At this, Keisuke's expression finally shifted, becoming sterner and more lined. "You can't possibly mean that," he said.

Carly's first instinct was to agree to this and apologize; she'd spoken thoughtlessly, without consideration and without any genuinely deliberated malice. But his response _had_ made her start to think on the subject…and the more she did, the less willing to apologize she became.

This wasn't the first time her mother had pulled shit like this, after all. Oh sure, the early years had been nice – freshly baked cookies and trips to the park and a great bounty of hugs. But ever since Carly had grown old enough to act, as Suzuki often put it, "willful"…

Take the first time she'd tried to arrange a date, for example. As a rule, Carly didn't get asked on a whole lot of them.

It just so happened that one of her girlfriends (or perhaps more accurately, a passably friendly acquaintance who was also a girl) had wrangled a dinner with the notoriously cute and notoriously uninterested Jinbei Tanigawa…though he'd only accepted on the condition that dates be found for his two best friends as well.

So Carly had gotten pulled in to fill one of those slots, out of proximity more than anything else. She knew nothing about her prospective beau, "Yoshizo Hayashi," except that given the choice between the three boys, he'd been the one _not_ taken by the main girl and her bestie.

Which, in the grand scheme of things, might've meant they shared some things in common after all.

Of course, Carly had never actually gotten to meet him. After eavesdropping and getting entirely the wrong idea about the proposed "group date," Suzuki Nagisa had started wailing her head off about Carly being lured into the lifestyle of a deviant and a pervert, and called the whole thing off.

Still…that _paled_ in comparison to what'd happened just a couple months ago.

A journalism conference was being held in Tokyo, and Carly had been delighted to learn that the _Ayasato Gazette_ had received an invitation. And she'd been even _more_ delighted when her new editor, the enigmatic Shiro Hakushoku, had informed her that he'd be occupied with undisclosed business the week of the conference. So he needed someone to cover for him…and Carly had been his first choice.

To say she was excited would've been an understatement of indescribable proportions. This was the sort of opportunity that _made_ careers.

An entire week spent rubbing shoulders and attending lectures with the biggest names in journalism from across Japan? Literally _dozens_ of chances to run into the editor or news magnate who could provide her with a ticket out of her insignificant little town, and into the great wide world of international news?

But as Carly was still underage, sending her on such a business trip required parental approval. Normally she got around such things by making sure to ask her father first, but he'd been off visiting his sister in Kyoto at the time, leaving Suzuki Nagisa solely responsible for making the decision.

And of _course_ she'd said no. Carly "wasn't ready" to travel that far, or to spend that much time away from home.

So the high schooler had been forced to turn down the best damn thing ever to be offered to her. Her blood was boiling just thinking about it.

The date, the conference, and now _this_…just the latest in sixteen years' worth of Carly's mother interfering with her life, trying to mold the spirited young girl into something as boring and worthless as herself.

Carly _did_ hate her.

"No…I _do_ mean it!" she shouted aloud, taking her father aback. "I hate everything about that bitch! And I'm sick and fucking _tired_ of pretending I don't!"

Her father was quiet for a long time following this outburst, ultimately sighing deeply and running his fingers through his graying hair. "Carly…you need some time to cool down," he said. "I don't think it's a good idea for you to go out like this, whether to that party or anywhere else."

Carly looked like she'd just been slapped in the face. "Wait…you don't mean…?" she stammered anxiously.

"I told your mother I didn't have a problem with you going to the city tonight, and I stand by that," he told her, hands on both of her shoulders now. "Even if it's a mistake…I think that you're old enough to make your own mistakes, and deal with the consequences."

"So what, then?" demanded Carly, looking very hurt. "You changed your mind? Just because I said…"

Keisuke held up a hand to interject.

"It's not about that. Well…not _just_ about that," he responded. "Look, sweetheart…parents make mistakes too. She might not say it to you outright, but your mother knows she sometimes comes off too strong with you. She's a little overprotective, true. And she can be judgmental, and jump to conclusions about what you're up to a little too quickly. I admit that."

The weathered farmer sighed again, his eyes on the last golden rays of the sun as it dipped below the horizon.

"But all that only comes out of how much she loves you, Carly," he added in a low voice. "Whether or not she's in the wrong here is irrelevant; I need you to at least _try_ to see it from her perspective. Because I won't be around to be a buffer between you two forever."

Carly bit her lip. Her father's condition was something she knew of intellectually, but which she did her best to force into the back of her mind whenever possible.

It was easy to forget, seeing him now – big and strong and healthy, the physical and emotional pillar she'd never known to fall down for even a moment – that he was even sick at all. He certainly wasn't going to drop dead tomorrow.

Still, the reminder was enough to distract her from coming up with a retort.

"Come on, baby girl. We should get back inside before dinner," Keisuke said after a few beats of silence, lifting his daughter to her feet and beckoning for her to follow.

Deep in thought, her eyes turned to the ground, she did so.

[-]

Carly had gotten through dinner, and then the rest of the evening, without saying very much of anything.

While neither of her parents had precisely used the word, for all intents and purposes Carly was grounded. Honestly she probably could've gotten away with hanging out in town if she'd asked her father…but what would be the point? Everybody who was anybody had already left for the city, or was just about to.

It wasn't fair, not one bit. But the sting of her father's "betrayal" had sapped her of the energy to argue. She could tell her mother still _wanted_ to (or at least, felt a _need_ to continue railing), but with Carly holding her tongue, Suzuki Nagisa seemed reluctant to start back up.

Eventually, she excused herself and retired to her room, flopping down on the bed hours before she typically did.

She wasn't the least bit tired, so with little else to do, Carly picked up her tablet and began shuffling through pictures. Unsurprisingly, she had quite a number of them. Most she had taken herself, but the earliest – the ones preceding her first camera – were her father's handiwork.

He was no more than an amateur himself, but he'd taught her everything he knew about camera technique and composition. With his whole life spent managing the same patch of land, Keisuke Nagisa was extremely diligent about keeping photographic records of everything he could, from the livestock to all maintenance work he did on the house.

It might be something of a cliché, he'd say, but when dealing with lawyers and insurance agents, a picture often really was worth a thousand words.

Carly paused over a photo of herself at age seven, blushing furiously beside her grade-school teacher as she timidly held up a red ribbon. Second-place in a poetry contest, she recalled. Her father had been so proud…proud enough to reward her with said first camera on her eighth birthday.

Seeing herself looking so pathetic stirred something in Carly, and she put down the tablet to bury her face in her pillow.

The part of her that was still thinking reasonably knew that the best thing she could do was sleep on things and, whether she meant it or not, apologize in the morning. Her mother might not accept it, but her father would, and hopefully that would be enough.

But that particular part was _also_ being told to go fuck itself by every single other fiber of her body.

She flipped over again, letting out something between a shriek and a low growl into her pillow.

Just then, there was a knock on the door.

"Carly? Are you alright?" asked her father through the hard wood. "I thought I heard something."

"It's…nothing, daddy," said Carly, trying to keep the anger out of her voice – and not altogether succeeding.

"Look, I…know this wasn't what you wanted to happen tonight, sweetheart," he went on, his voice very quiet. "But we'll talk in the morning, okay?"

"Okay…" murmured Carly, for the first time in her life just wishing for her father to go away. "Whatever."

She was silent after that, so she could plainly overhear the sounds of his feet moving across the planked floor and closing the door to her parents' bedroom. He always went to bed at least half-an-hour after his wife, and fell asleep quickly.

So in a few minutes…Carly would be the only person awake in the house…

Her eyes went wide.

No…_no,_ she couldn't. She _couldn't_…right?

She was a good girl, after all. She didn't steal, or cheat, or hurt people. She wasn't a liar or a deviant. Today excluded, she didn't even talk back very often.

And yet…and yet…

Her mind was already whirring into overdrive, turning over the numerous possibilities and potential pitfalls at lightning speed.

Her father always got up promptly at six in the morning, and the driving distance between Ayasato and Neo Domino was a little under an hour. That meant that she could spend up to six hours in the city and be back in bed in time, without anyone being the wiser.

She knew where the keys were, and she knew how to drive; she'd never done it unsupervised, admittedly, and she didn't exactly have a license _per se,_ but she could drive.

And tomorrow was Saturday, so she wouldn't have to be up for school. So long as she toughed it out through her morning chores, without looking _too_ visibly exhausted, her parents wouldn't have to know about her skimping on sleep.

The car's mileage and fuel indicators were a potential problem, admittedly. Her father was usually meticulous about keeping track of those sorts of things…but her mother _wasn't,_ and she'd been the last one to drive it. With any luck, a few dozen extra kilometers wouldn't be noticed.

It took the emotional side of Carly's brain several moments to catch up with the analytical side, and realize that she'd seriously just broken down the logistics of _stealing the car._

Well…_borrowing,_ strictly speaking, depending on one's personal definition of the term. But nevertheless…

Carly's blood was pumping, and adrenaline was shooting all throughout her body. There was no way she was going to be able to sleep tonight, even if she _didn't_ sneak out. But was that a further reason to go…or a reason not to?

Carly mentally forced herself to picture what the worst-case consequences could be of such a decision.

She could get into an accident, for one thing. She'd never driven anywhere but on Ayasato's quiet country roads. What if she inadvertently ended up violating some weird city traffic rule she'd never heard of? If she got pulled over, there was no way she'd be able to explain herself without getting arrested.

Okay…she'd just have to be extra careful. And lucky. _Very_ lucky.

A bead of sweat ran down Carly's forehead. "Lucky" was really the last word anyone she knew would've used to describe her. And if she was _particularly_ unfortunate tonight, there were _dozens_ of other things that could go wrong.

Both her parents usually slept quite soundly, but what if one of them had to get up in the middle of the night to grab some water or use the bathroom? What if the sound of the car engine happened to rouse them?

And even if she _did_ make it to the party without them noticing, assembled there would be all of Ayasato's most well-practiced gossips. Who knew how many of them could – or would – blab about her presence there, or toss it all up online?

These were all reasonable points; strong reasons that going would risk _far_ more trouble than it was worth.

And yet…and _yet_…

Carly pictured her mother lecturing her just a few hours ago, and her blood boiled. How many times was this going to happen? How many times was Carly just going to _let_ it happen?

She was sixteen, for God's sake! Was she just going to lie down and allow herself to get treated like a fucking infant _forever?!_

"No, goddammit!" Carly finally whispered out loud, tearing away the covers and leaping to the floor.

Even if it didn't make all that much rational sense, she _had_ to do this. To prove a point, to herself if no one else.

This was the day Carly Nagisa would finally be free.

[-]

The streets of Neo Domino were even more confusing than Carly had anticipated. They twisted in all sorts of strange directions, with so many flashing lights and weird signs plastered all over the place that the young girl's head was spinning within minutes.

Not helping was the fact that she was proceeding at a snail's pace, bumper-to-bumper with the vehicle in front of her pretty much from the moment she entered the city limits. The drive to the city had been a relatively simple and quiet affair, but now Carly wasn't entirely certain she wouldn't get there faster if she just jumped out and walked.

What were all these people _doing_ out so late, anyway?

Well, in any event…Carly was at least _pretty_ sure she was getting close to her destination. She had a map on her phone and directions on her tablet, plus a picture of the club that she'd looked up online.

The lights were getting brighter and more numerous in this area, and the streets were beginning to fill up with people; mostly of the younger sort, but more than a few who weren't. Names of countless nightclubs, bars, and restaurants – more than Carly had ever seen before in her entire life – flashed by in a blur.

Finally, the bespectacled teenager gave a relieved smile as the sight she was searching for came into view: a neon sign reading _Carnival Night._

Even Carly, who was as far from being "plugged in" to these sorts of things as a young woman could be, had heard of this place. Lynchpin in the entertainment empire of the world-famous Roba family, this one nightclub had led to hundreds of casinos, hotels, and dueling arenas the world over.

Drawing its aesthetics from the Roba brothers' past careers as circus performers, _Carnival Night_ was as garish as it was exhilarating. And even decades later, it was still _the_ place to be for the youth of Japan.

The three-story club was popular enough to have its own parking garage, which Carly timorously pulled into. Finding a spot took nearly twenty minutes; the place was _that_ packed.

Throngs of people stretched in every direction that Carly could see as she made her way to the front entrance, and for a few moments she was seized by the overpowering urge to run as far away as possible in the other direction. She wasn't particularly comfortable even in smaller crowds, and with something like _this_…

Still…she'd already come this far, hadn't she?

Clutching at her bag, Carly pushed forward to the rainbow-hued double doors. There was a line, but there didn't appear to be a bouncer or anyone like that checking identification. Which was good, because it hadn't occurred to Carly until that exact moment that she didn't have any.

None that wouldn't get her booted out for being a minor, anyway.

All considered, between the confusing drive over, parking, and waiting in line, it was nearly an hour later than Carly had planned that she actually managed to _enter_ the club. The first sight that greeted her, however, made her decide right on the spot that it was worth it.

It was as if someone had taken every color and sound that Carly knew, and a few dozen others she'd never even imagined, stuck them in a blender together, and set to frappe. Hundreds of people stretched all across the massive, circus tent-like hall, packed tightly together in various pulsing throngs.

A live band was performing at earsplitting volume at the far end of the club, the very air vibrating with every chord and drum beat. It was the kind of music that reached inside you and made you _need_ to move, and the swaying masses on no less than five separate dance floors obliged accordingly.

Strobe lights moved in time with the beat, flashing a different color every second as they illuminated various decorations fashioned after carnival rides or circus acts. A human cannonball (though upon further inspection, _robot_ cannonball was probably a more apt term) fired off every fifteen seconds precisely, while an automated trapeze performance went on above everyone's heads.

For Carly, whose ordinary conception of "exciting" rarely strayed beyond a few subtitled American action movies, it was almost too much to even process at once. Every turn of her head was another sight of utter marvel, and the young farm girl had to bite down on her own fist to keep from squealing in awe.

Now _this_ was a reason to sneak out!

"Hey…don't I know you from somewhere? Here for the _paaaaaaarty?_" asked another teenaged girl, hanging off the arm of an attractive guy and clearly far too drunk to stand up on her own.

This managed to shock Carly out of her reverie, and accordingly she gave the other woman a once-over. She did indeed look familiar, but Carly couldn't place her immediately.

"Yeah, yeah…you're whatshername's friend, _riiiiiiight?_" the girl slurred after a few seconds, swaying until she was collapsed over her companion's shoulder. "Like…I think we have lit together, or something?"

"Err…maybe…" murmured Carly.

"Well, whatever! Get a drink in your hand, _biiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiitch!_" exclaimed the girl, before grabbing her male partner by the hair and beginning to make out fiercely. Carly took that as her cue to walk past.

Once again, Carly felt a spike of panic as she drew close enough to get a better look at the patrons in this area. Many of them were indeed students that Carly recognized from school, by face if not by name.

Despite their apparent ages, nearly all of them were drinking, and that girl by the entrance didn't even seem to be the most visibly intoxicated one there. One booth she passed saw several girls she knew from gym class slumped over the table, either unconscious or very close to it.

Another contained a few members of Ayasato High School's football team, who were passing around pills that Carly very much doubted were prescribed by a doctor.

The first girl was also far from the only one to be engaged in "amorous activities," and indeed by some of her peers' standards she'd been positively restrained. Carly almost felt dirty simply from watching how some of the guys and girls (and in a few cases, guys and guys or girls and girls) were dancing with each other, rubbing against each other, and in a few of the booths farthest from the light…

Carly shivered and flushed as she nervously made her way closer to the band. It was ridiculously _loud_ there, but at least the sights were more exhilarating than intimidating.

Before she could make her way over to one of the few empty booths set up near the stage, however, a hand grasped her shoulder. She jumped and gave a shrill yelp (thankfully, mostly drowned out by the music), before turning to see one of her fellow writers on the school paper.

"Carly! Glad you could make it," he said with a smile. "Did you just get here?"

"Oh, uh…yeah. Yeah, I just…got here…" she mumbled. "Didn't really think things through about what I'd do once I _did,_ though…"

The young man chuckled. "Hey, I hear ya!" he replied, gesturing back at a nearby dancing group with his thumb. "Most of the other guys on the paper are over there. And I think I saw your girlfriends over near the birthday girl. You should go say hi."

Carly nodded slowly. Truthfully, it probably wasn't all that accurate to say she had "girlfriends," though that's what she'd call them to her parents or teachers. They were more a set of girls who didn't particularly mind acknowledging her as she passed them in the halls, and wouldn't immediately object to getting partnered with her on an assignment.

But that was certainly an improvement on the rest of the student body. Carly wasn't _unpopular,_ exactly, in that she wasn't typically singled out for bullying or verbal abuse. There was the occasional snickering at her overlarge glasses or klutzy demeanor or fondness for old thick books, but most of that (operative term, _most_) had died down by the time she entered high school.

No, it was simply that to most of her peers, Carly was something of a nonentity. A handful knew of her simply because there weren't a whole lot of people in a town like Ayasato who'd been globally recognized for _anything;_ still, the general disinterest that the average high school student was likely to have in the news media precluded her from being recognized much.

And otherwise? She was plain, unassuming, and _painfully_ awkward in any social situation. Her marks were good but not stellar, and she certainly wasn't even the remotest bit athletic.

In short, to all but maybe ten or fifteen students in the entire school, Carly Nagisa was for all intents and purposes invisible.

Still…if the friendliest of those ten or fifteen were here, then there was still hope of this night turning out as amazing as Carly had built it up to be in her mind. She bowed her thanks to her fellow student-journalist, before heading off in the direction he'd indicated.

Now that it'd been pointed out to her, it was impossible to miss the cluster of students in question. There were about two dozen of them, sprawled across six booths and chatting animatedly.

Balloons and a gigantic Hello Kitty doll marked the point where the birthday girl was sitting, a bowl of sake in her hands and a half-eaten bag of chocolates spread in front of her. Carly's lab partner in biology class – the one who'd invited Carly in the first place, and who was now laughing uproariously at said girl's right shoulder, seemed to notice Carly staring, and waved her over.

"Hey Carly! What're you doin' just standing there?" she called out, scooting over to make some space. "I just got done sayin' that we didn't think you were coming!"

"I…got delayed on the way here," said Carly as she uneasily sat herself down. "Err…thank you for thinking of me, though…"

"Well, of course she did. It's not like I invited you for no reason," chimed in the birthday girl after swallowing her sake.

"Umm…okay…" murmured Carly, a little put off by the other girl's tone. Still, not wanting to be rude, she quickly added, "Happy birthday to you, by the way. I'm sorry I didn't really bring a gift or anything."

The girl gave a dismissive wave of the hand. "Just so long as you've got your camera," she replied coolly. "And can you do me a favor and get an angle where my ass _doesn't_ look fat? That happened with the yearbook photos last year, and _dammit_ was I pissed…"

Carly blinked a few times. "Err…am I missing something?" she asked after a few seconds.

"You _do_ write for that news thing, right?" responded the other girl. "Even got published around the world or some shit? I mean, I know those dweebs on the school paper are writing something on it, but I think this party deserves a _little_ more than that."

"You…want me to write an article for the _Gazette?_ About your…birthday party?" said Carly, rubbing her head in confusion.

"Hey, you write up crap about fairs and festivals and shit like that, right?" demanded the birthday girl, now looking rather irritated. "So what the hell's the difference?"

Carly had to admit that she had a point there, if crudely put. And in any event, her instinct under such a harsh glare was to shrink back. "I'll…bring it up to my editor on Monday," she told the other girl. "But I can get started on the photos now if you want."

The girl nodded, taking out a compact from her purse and beginning to touch up her makeup. As her girlfriends moved to do likewise, though, realization hit Carly like an electric shock.

"Wait…no, I can't do that! I'm sorry!" she exclaimed, more shrilly than she'd been intending.

"Excuse me…?" asked the birthday girl, her glare intensifying.

"Well, it's nothing personal, but…uh, the thing is…" stammered Carly, trying to sound as sincerely apologetic as possible. "I…kinda snuck out tonight. If I publish an article, they might find out I was here…"

A heavy silence fell over the group of students for several moments. Then, the girl gave a big, snorting laugh. "Are you fucking serious? How old _are_ you, bitch?" she sneered.

Before Carly could answer – not that she was going to anytime soon, as her mouth had suddenly gone rather dry – she then turned to her friends and shouted, "Hey, looks like _someone_ didn't get permission from mommy and daddy! She better be careful, or they might make her sit in the fucking corner!"

Every girl there immediately began to laugh their heads off at this jibe; Carly's lab partner was the loudest. Slowly, the bespectacled reporter backed away, beet-red and determinedly avoiding eye contact.

She tried to say something in protest, but her body (particularly the parts of it governing speech) had a nasty habit of shutting down in situations like this.

Eventually, the lead girl's own mirth died down, and she returned to her previous coldness as she said, "Well, if you can't at least make yourself useful, kindly get the fuck out of my face. Hang out in the club for as long as you want, I guess…but stay away from us. We clear, bitch?"

Carly swallowed. "Y…Yeah. Clear…" she mumbled, before shuffling off in a random direction, the only thought on her mind being getting as far away as possible.

[-]

Carly spent the next few hours sitting alone at a table, sipping something she really shouldn't be sipping and generally trying as hard as she could not to cry.

She should've known that they wouldn't have bothered inviting _her_ of all people, without some sort of angle.

And really, that wasn't what was depressing her. Surely there were other people here who'd been invited for reasons other than genuine fondness – because they let the more popular girls copy off their schoolwork, for example, or because they simply had money to throw around. This wasn't much different.

The insults and laughter at her expense weren't really what were bothering her, either; they weren't exactly _fun_ to hear, but she could ignore them. Or try, at least.

No, what was truly causing Carly Nagisa to sulk was the realization that she'd been 100% correct. The better part of her brain had told her outright that this would be a bonehead move, risking everything for the sake of so little, and now she wasn't even in a position to enjoy the few hours of frivolity her hasty judgment had bought her.

She drank a fair bit more, and even tried to dance with some of the local boys for a little while, but her heart wasn't in it. Plus, she was fucking terrible.

In the end, she left the party less than two hours after arriving, alone and dejected.

The drive back was slow and uneventful. Carly was exhausted – the rollercoaster of emotions her time in the club had wrought upon her had wreaked havoc upon her earlier manic energy – and more than once felt herself come close to drifting off at the wheel.

Still, almost nobody else was on the road at the time (for who'd actually be traveling this early to a backward township like Ayasato, anyway?), so there was little consequence to Carly's occasionally erratic driving.

During her more lucid moments, Carly tried to keep herself focused on ruminating over the night's events, in order to stay awake if nothing else. But for the most part her tired mind ending up repeating the same mantra over and over: something to the effect of "if this is what 'freedom' feels like, then it can go fuck itself."

Only less vulgar. Or more vulgar, sometimes. She really wasn't thinking straight.

At least…until she pulled off the main road onto the dirt path that led to the Nagisa farm, and bolted to full consciousness in an instant.

The first sign that something was wrong was the flashing lights. Nothing inside, outside, or even remotely connected to their farm flashed like that (or at all), and the intense blitz of red and white was enough to kick her adrenaline into gear.

As she neared the edge of their property, the source of the lights became crystal clear: an ambulance was parked outside their front door, with a couple uniformed paramedics shouting orders she couldn't hear through the open doorway.

Carly had scarcely a few seconds to ponder what they could possibly be doing there before her hands shot to her mouth, and her eyes went wide with fear.

For being led out on a wheeled stretcher was none other than her father, his eyes closed and his body unmoving.

Parking hastily, Carly leapt from the car and sprinted toward them, trying to call out to her father but finding herself unable to make a sound. Still, she managed to catch the tail end of what one of the paramedics was saying to her mother as they followed behind the stretcher, the latter clutching the hand of her husband for as long as she could.

"You did good to administer CPR until we arrived, ma'am," he told Suzuki Nagisa, who was clearly trying her utmost not to dissolve into a blubbering mess. "It's a slim one, I won't lie…but you may have given him a chance."

The older woman nodded slowly, apparently rendered just as speechless as her daughter out of shock.

"You can ride with him in the ambulance, if you want," the paramedic offered after a few moments of silence.

Suzuki looked visibly torn, her eyes locked onto the open ambulance doors as she bit her lip. But eventually she shook her head and said, in a very quiet voice, "I…I want to, but…I need to wait for…"

Suddenly, purely by instinct, the housewife turned her head, and her eyes met with Carly's own.

And they were _burning_ with fury.

"Get going to the hospital," she murmured to the paramedic, her tone shifting to one so low and so terrifying that the man hastened to obey without another word.

Both of the Nagisa women watched on, rooted in place, as the doors closed and the emergency vehicle began the drive back to the main road.

Then, at the moment that Suzuki Nagisa saw it turn the corner and disappear from view, she strode over and slapped her daughter hard across the face.

"What the hell were you _thinking?!_" she screamed, enraged tears streaming down her cheeks.

Carly fought back tears of her own as she clutched at the spot where she'd been struck, feeling a big red welt already beginning to swell up there. "I…I don't…!" was all she could manage to stammer, her mind a jumble of pain and confusion.

"Keisuke went into cardiac arrest an _hour_ ago!" bellowed her mother, looking very much like she was readying another blow. "You know damn well there's no hospital in Ayasato!"

Carly's blood went ice-cold as she heard these words, and as the first hint of their implications trickled down her spine. It was true, after all. Ayasato had used to have a dedicated hospital, but budget issues had led to its shutdown years ago. A couple small clinics still existed to address basic checkups or dental appointments, but none of them had an ambulance to send on such short notice.

Which meant that, absent a car to drive, the closest vehicle they could've procured to transport her father in his time of emergency was…

Was…

"We're going to discuss this more – a _lot_ more – once the night is over," Suzuki whispered, her hand lowering but her eyes remaining as furious as ever. "Right now, give me back my damn keys."

It didn't even occur to Carly to disobey. Cringing under her mother's fiery gaze, she handed over the car and wordlessly climbed into the back seat, clutching her shoulders and shivering as they headed out after the ambulance.

[-]

The drive to the hospital was excruciating.

If Suzuki Nagisa had thought that the best way to punish her daughter was to let her stew in silence, then she'd been right on the money. Though she certainly wasn't looking forward to having it out with her mother, the waiting was far, far worse.

Every clearing of the throat, every glance sideways, set Carly even further on edge. It was _unbearable,_ knowing that the time she'd have to explain herself was rapidly approaching, and yet unsure whether any given moment could _be_ that time.

And the big problem was that Carly _didn't_ have anything to say in explanation. Even as the minutes ticked by – five, ten, twenty, thirty – no words came. Her mind had more or less shut down the moment she saw her father being carted away.

She did a mental double-take there as she realized that, with her own father at death's door, she was far more preoccupied with selfishly protecting _herself_ from her mother's all-too-justified wrath.

The pit in her stomach deepened so much that she almost vomited.

Carly felt just as sick with herself half-an-hour later, as they pulled into the parking lot of Domino General Hospital. Despite the late hour, the place was abuzz with activity, with more people coming and going about than Carly could count.

But neither Nagisa woman stopped to check any closer. Suzuki, for her part, didn't look like she had a single thing on her mind other than getting to her husband's side, and Carly hastened to follow behind.

"Can I help you?" asked a harried but kindly looking receptionist as they burst into the building.

"Suzuki Nagisa, wife of Keisuke Nagisa," she said shortly, a deep tremble only barely kept out of her voice. "He was taken in under…under cardiac arrest, sometime within the last hour…"

The receptionist typed on her computer for a moment before replying, "It looks like your husband's in surgery right now, ma'am. I can have a nurse escort you to a waiting area."

"Yes…of course," murmured Suzuki, nodding politely to a middle-aged woman in scrubs who beckoned them to follow her. "Thank you for that…"

Almost robotically, she rushed after the nurse, a silent Carly bringing up the rear. The older woman led them to the emergency room, beckoning to a set of chairs before quietly entering the OR.

About a minute past before a gray-haired surgeon exited out into the hallway, removing his mask and sighing. "You're Mister Nagisa's next of kin?" he asked of Suzuki.

She got out of her chair to face him directly, her face both incredibly stern but also somehow very, very weak. Carly had never seen her mother look quite so _old_ as she answered, "Yes. Now, please…just tell me…"

The slow shake of his head spoke the story before he even uttered another word. "I'm sorry to have to tell you this, but…" he began.

"_No!_" Suzuki suddenly exclaimed, grasping the doctor by his collar and screaming into his face. "Don't you dare! Don't you _fucking dare!_"

The doctor, not unsympathetically, waited for the woman to get that out of her system, collapsing on the floor as the tears finally began to flow once more. Then, with the patience of a man who had said this a hundred times before, he told them, "I'm truly sorry, ma'am. We did everything we could. If we'd got him in just a few minutes earlier, we might've…"

The man continued to speak, but Carly had stopped listening at that point. A horrible feeling, like numbness punctuated by random bursts of sharp stinging pain, had been creeping up the teenager's body from the moment she'd seen her father prone on that stretcher, kept at bay only by the assurance that she _might_ not hear those words.

But she had. Her worst fear, the one thing she'd been dreading even more than the "mere" news of her father's demise, had been confirmed.

Carly Nagisa had killed her father.

[-]

The rest of the night passed Carly by like a blur. Her mother wasn't even attempting to maintain her composure as they went through the procedures requested by the hospital, weeping openly over the paperwork they asked her to sign and generally looking as if she might collapse at any moment.

To an outside observer, it might seem that Carly was handling the news a lot better; her eyelids were damp and puffy, and every once in a while she sniffled, but otherwise she seemed relatively calm.

But this was less because of genuine serenity and more because her body was apparently in the process of shutting down. The moment that she'd learned just how close they'd come to being able to save him – that if she'd arrived back home just five or ten minutes earlier, or better yet, not stolen the car for such a fucking _stupid_ reason in the first place, things might've turned out differently – it was as if a cork had been pulled out of her, causing every last iota of energy to leak away.

She was unbelievably exhausted, yet could in no way sleep. She was completely devoid of fuel, yet could in no way eat. There simply wasn't _anything_ in her now.

She was just…empty.

Still, she followed right behind her mother as they went through the motions the hospital staff demanded, excusing herself only once: running off to the bathroom to dry heave violently upon seeing her father's body being carted away, a white cloth covering his face but still _so_ unmistakably Keisuke Nagisa, with calloused fingers from decades of farm work and a scar on his chest owing to a tractor mishap in his youth.

Further arrangements, for the funeral and for who knew what else, could wait until another night; Suzuki clearly wanted to get out of there as soon as possible, and Carly _certainly_ wasn't in any position to object.

The drive back home was no less quiet than the initial one. If Carly had had to guess, she would've presumed that her mother didn't trust herself to get into an even less emotionally stable mindset while she was driving…and she probably would've been correct.

Not that Carly was really in any position _to_ guess, of course. Her mind was a complete blank, beyond that single, all-consuming mantra:

_I killed my father. I killed my father. I killed my father…_

By the time they arrived back in Ayasato, the first golden rays of the sunrise were beginning to poke their way over the horizon. It was truly a beautiful morning, Carly reflected hollowly. The kind that her daddy had loved so very, very much.

Strictly speaking, this was around the time for both of them to get started on the Saturday chores, but Suzuki was clearly not in the mood to either insist on the point or to do them herself. Instead, she was as silent as ever as they pulled into the garage, unlocking the front door and revealing a house that was outwardly no different than it'd been a day before, and yet would in no way ever be the same.

There was still more paperwork to be done, when time was permitting; Suzuki absently set it down on a table and headed up the creaking stairs, toward her bedroom. Lacking any kind of feeling of direction, Carly did likewise. As much as she knew she didn't deserve it, sleep seemed like the greatest thing in the world right now.

Her mother paused, just for a little while, as she was pulling open the door…her eyes set upon the bed that she'd shared only hours ago. Without looking at her daughter, her voice utterly hollow, she finally spoke up.

"I'm not going to yell or get angry. Not right now, anyway," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "Just tell me the truth. You took the car to go to that party, right?"

Carly, frozen at the threshold of her own bedroom, said nothing in response. Words simply wouldn't come.

Suzuki seemed to take her silence as an affirmation, however. "Well, in that case…" she went on, still facing away from her child, "…I just hope that it was worth it."

The door closed after that.

And tears finally began to flow, free and clear, down the teenager's face.

[-]

"That's what you see?" asked Misty Lola, her warm and compassionate voice contrasting strongly with the inhuman eyes that bored into Carly's own. "When you use your powers to your fullest, that is?"

Carly Nagisa sighed, nodding slowly. This had seemed a sensible idea at the time – linking their minds so as to remove the barriers of physicality as the two Dark Signers reached a critical point in their training. It was simply far more efficient for Misty to imprint the knowledge of these higher-level techniques directly onto her brain, rather than demonstrate them one at a time.

But the disadvantage, of course, was that it made it painfully clear what an utterly pathetic wretch she'd been in her youth. She'd already made a bad enough first impression on her fellow emissaries of Hell, and she'd spent the past several weeks trying to move past it to as great a degree as possible.

"I tried not to pry too deeply, but…" Misty said, shifting uncomfortably. "Well, that's easier said than done when the memories are that…_visceral._"

Carly just nodded again, pulling her knees up to her chest and crossing her arms over them.

There was a lengthy pause before Misty added, "Do you mind if I ask…what happened after that?"

Carly tilted her head back up. "You can't just see it?" she replied with confusion.

"They're _your_ memories, Carly; colored by _your_ own perceptions," Misty answered with a shake of the head. "After that night, they're far more…vague and jumbled. Difficult to read. It'd take me a few hours more of mental contact to even _begin_ making sense of them."

This explanation caused something to click in Carly's mind. "But…wait," she said, looking confused again. "What about that point where my parents were talking when I was out of the house? How could 'my' memories contain something I wasn't present for?"

Misty tapped her chin a couple of times, apparently considering this. "Hard to say," she responded. "Though…I suppose one possibility would be that, given your natural proclivity for fortunetelling…"

She tapped Carly's transformed deck, and the _Fortune Lady Lighty_ that sat on top of it, as if to prove her point.

"That, perhaps…you may've been a natural low-level psychic in life," Misty added, her eyes immediately growing sad as she uttered those words. "Even if your senses weren't attuned enough at the time to actually realize it, they might've at least picked up on the conversation subconsciously. And as our gods hew any and all skills we possessed as humans to their absolute maxima…"

Carly didn't have to ask why her mentor's voice was cracking somewhat as she discussed her theory, instead merely hugging the other Dark Signer around the shoulder.

"In that case…well, there's not really much that _did_ happen in those years, but I'll do my best," she said soothingly.

"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to," whispered Misty.

Carly just shook her head. "It's fine, Misty-san," she declared. "I can't keep running from the past here. To truly be a Dark Signer, I must embrace it; _use_ it. Both you and Aslla piscu have taught me that much."

This made Misty smile slightly as the other woman went on to explain, "My mother loathed me from that day onward – not that I really noticed, when I was so busy loathing myself. I barely noticed half the stuff going on around me anymore, at home or in class…not a good quality in a reporter. So I quit the school paper the following week."

"What about your town's paper?" asked Misty. "That _Ayasato Gazette?_"

"I _tried_ to quit there too," Carly replied, closing her eyes briefly. "But Hakushoku-sama – my editor, that is – refused to accept my resignation. He reduced my assignments and my workload for a while in sympathy, but he managed to convince me not to throw my career away entirely."

Misty seemed to wince involuntarily at this, as if she had some kind of headache (not that the dead were truly subject to such things).

"Misty-san, is something the matter?" Carly asked, looking worried.

"No…No, it's nothing," said Misty, waving a hand nonchalantly. "You just reminded me, when I saw that second editor of yours – that 'Shiro Hakushoku' guy – in your memories…"

The elder Dark Signer paused for a moment, apparently in deep thought, before shaking her head.

"I thought maybe he looked a little familiar, but…no, like I said, it's nothing. Just imagining things," she concluded. "Please, go on."

Carly was still a little concerned, but nonetheless continued, "As for school…well, within a week, nobody but me seemed to remember that stupid party at all. So I probably could've kept some friends – for a given definition of 'friends,' I guess – if I'd really tried. I didn't, though. I withdrew from everyone, peers and teachers alike. And nobody really cared enough to try to persuade me otherwise."

The younger woman gave a short, humorless laugh. "You know, I even had a boyfriend for a few weeks back then," she added, her dark eyes narrowed. "Never went anywhere, of course; my heart was never in it. Hell, I don't even remember his name anymore."

"Is that why you ended up coming to Neo Domino after all?" asked Misty. "Nothing left for you in your hometown?"

"I guess that's one way to put it," said Carly with what, were she still breathing, might've been a sigh. "My grades went to shit once I stopped paying attention in class, so college wouldn't be an option for a while. Which meant it was either stick it out on the farm for another year or two after high school, or…"

Misty placed a comforting hand on her protégé's shoulder. "What did your mother think about it?" she murmured, clearly knowing that this was a difficult subject.

Carly gave a snorting, humorless laugh. "I think you can guess," she answered bitterly. "I mean, we'd pretty much stopped speaking to each other after that night, anyway. This was just the last straw."

The Dark Signer began to absently play with the hem of her cloak. "We argued for hours when I told her I was leaving," Carly went on. "I don't even remember what we said to each other. Just a helluva lot of shouting. Before I knew it I was slamming the door, screaming that I never wanted to see her fucking face again…and getting the same thing screamed right back at me."

Carly looked up to meet Misty in the eyes, and answered the unspoken question glistening within them. "No, we never reconciled," she said in a flat tone. "That was the last time we ever spoke. I don't even know if she's still alive."

Misty was silent for a moment, before finally whispering, "I'm sorry…"

Carly just shook her head. "There's no need to be," she responded in a low voice. "I made my choice. I made a lot of choices. That's why I'm here, with you…with everyone. Even if I _wanted_ to lose myself in regret, I couldn't do so. I can't afford to be weak anymore."

Misty closed her eyes and nodded, unable to argue with this. Then, after a few pregnant seconds, she got to her feet and straightened out her dress.

"That's enough training for today," she declared. "It's probably best that we give your mind several hours to rest after such…_strenuous_ activity. Besides, I've got a bunch of errands I need to run in Neo Domino today. We might not have another chance to gather supplies and resources before our King arrives."

The Dark Signer then ran a glowing hand across her eyes and face, casting a glamour that made them appear as if she was still human.

Turning to the still-sitting Carly, her expression softened as she added, "Actually…why don't you join me, Carly? You should be capable of maintaining a simple glamour like this by now. And frankly, I think a few hours outside this place might do you some good."

Carly bit her lip. "I'm…not sure that would be a good idea, Misty-san," she said, looking downcast.

"Don't make me force you," replied Misty, pulling the other Dark Signer to her feet by the arm and dragging her to a mirror. "Come on, let's see it."

Carly gazed into her reflection – a visage that was both terrifying and trembling at the same time – and found herself turning inward, as she often did now in moments of uncertainty. It still tended to feel more than a little strange to have another voice sounding off in her brain, but at the same time…

_Go on, Carly Nagisa._

"Are you sure…?" Carly whispered aloud. Misty didn't have to ask whom she was addressing; she was constantly doing much the same thing with Ccarayhua, after all.

_You have earned a few hours of freedom, My host. And in any event, your mind must be clear if you are to succeed in the path you have set._

The undead woman nodded slowly, closing her eyes and marshalling all her concentration. When she opened them up again, they had the appearance of life once more.

"Okay…I'm ready," she spoke after a few moments, still staring intently at her reflection.

Misty just smiled, and proceeded to lead the way.

"Carly and I are heading into the city. Need anything?" the avatar of the lizard god called out as they passed by the closed door to their (for lack of a better term) garage.

"Find me some tunes that're fucking epic!" shouted back the voice of Kiryu Kyosuke, who – based on the sounds emanating from inside the large room – was working on one of their D-Wheels. "Nothing I've heard before, though. That may seem impossible, but c'mon, I know you bitches are up to it!"

Though they couldn't see either of their fellow Dark Signers, the rolling of Demak Kera's eyes was almost audible as he chimed in, "And by that, our colleague _means_ to say he needs a new socket wrench. Oh, and while you're at it…pick me up a current newspaper, will you? There's only so much Rudger's divination can tell us, and obviously we don't get internet down here."

"Will do," said Misty shortly, Carly bringing up the rear with slightly raised eyebrows.

[-]

The trip to Neo Domino was simpler than Carly had been expecting; she couldn't wait to learn that "teleportation by geoglyph" trick. Still, they couldn't well manifest the mark of the lizard in the midst of a crowded street, so they still had to do quite a bit of walking to get to the city's business district.

They split up, at that point: Misty heading off to a hardware store to pick up Kiryu's equipment, and Carly went off in search of a newspaper. They'd meet back up in a nearby park once their respective errands were complete.

It was utterly surreal, being back here. After having built it up all her life as something truly incredible, the day she'd arrived in the city two years ago – for the first time as a prospective resident, rather than a simple day tripper – Carly hadn't really known _how_ to feel.

On the one hand, there were so many simple wonders from her purely rural perspective, from D-Wheels racing across the streets to jaw-dropping sales on all sorts of top-of-the-line electronics her young mind had only dreamt of. It was hard not to get swept up in it, if she had the inclination to do so.

Of course, on the _other_ hand…well, she'd had laundry hanging from the inside of her car more often than she'd really prefer to admit.

Ultimately, everything she'd saved from her meager wages at the _Gazette_ had disappeared within about a month. Nothing had prepared her for the expenses of living on her own; hearing about the rent in even the crappiest apartment she could find nearly gave her a heart attack.

The upshot was that she'd ended up living on the streets for about half a year, sleeping in her car and writing up cheap web content to generate enough money for food and water. Going to bed (for a given definition of "bed") hungry hadn't been an unusual occurrence.

The less stubborn parts of her brain had more than once considered calling home and asking for a little money. Pride had forestalled her, however.

Carly Nagisa, the shy and pathetically clumsy farm girl, had needed to die in order for Carly Nagisa, Neo Domino's greatest ace reporter, to be born. As such, it would've been counterproductive to reestablish any connection between those two lives.

Besides…it wasn't like her mother was likely to help her out, anyway.

And in the end, she _had_ managed to land a freelance job with the _Neo Domino Bulletin_ a few months later, which – together with careful saving and continuing to do some web stuff on the side – had eventually meant a decent apartment and some clothes without holes.

But that'd been enough for her. Whether busting criminal operations or simply covering a few street duels, the young girl had _lived_ for journalism.

She wrote, and the world responded. She wrote, and the world _changed._

Unbidden, a thought arose from the innermost depths of Carly's mind: had she written _anything_ since she'd been reborn? It somewhat disturbed the young Dark Signer that she couldn't immediately answer "yes."

She couldn't remember a time before she'd known how to write. She kept a journal, of course, and added random little scrawls into it at _least_ daily. Article ideas, poetry, some truly awful yaoi fanfiction which should never ever see the light of day…

But the last entry in that book, wherever it was now (Security evidence storage, most likely) was dated the day she'd tried to infiltrate the Arcadia Movement. Over three weeks had passed since the night she'd died, plenty of time to get back into the habit, and yet…no, nothing. Not one single, solitary sentence.

Carly shook her head as she stared out at a newsstand from a dark alleyway, watching the vendor light up a cigarette and kick up his feet. There was no point in worrying about this now.

_It really isn't all that important, in the grand scheme of things,_ the part of her mind that was one with Aslla piscu reminded her.

So why was she hesitating?

Levitating over one of the papers would be laughably simple. The man wasn't paying any particular attention to his wares, and even if he had been, obfuscating his senses wouldn't be a difficult matter.

But all the same…

It would be the first newspaper she'd ever touched with hands of Death. And something about that was arousing a visceral, negative reaction in the young Dark Signer.

The feeling wasn't in any way rational, of course. Carly was quite proud of the body she now wielded, a finely hewed weapon for slaughtering Signers. Death had purified her, perfected her, stripped away every last weakness or flaw – leaving a being truly worthy of becoming this world's Dark Queen.

If anything, it was those cheaply printed pages which were unworthy of being touched by _her_ now, rather than the other way around. At least, that's how she attempted to rationalize it inwardly.

Neither she nor her god were fooled, however.

Ashamed of herself, Carly withdrew back into the shadows.

[-]

Half an hour later, the strange mental block that was keeping her from simply running off with a paper remained as implacable as ever, to Carly's intense consternation. Aslla piscu was being unusually quiet, but she knew that the Earthbound God was disappointed in her.

She didn't like that feeling.

Still, if Carly couldn't overcome this inexplicable obstacle, then she would simply have to work around it. This was why she was currently infiltrating the main headquarters of the _Daily Duel;_ confronting the problem at the source was the only surefire way to ensure that it would no longer be an issue.

Plus, Carly noted with a wry smirk…this was the place where her longtime rival Angela Raines worked. As she snuck into the woman's private office, the plentiful shadows shielding her from prying eyes, she began to contemplate a number of potential revenges against the blonde reporter – the woman who'd seen fit to humiliate and insult her at every possible opportunity over the past two years.

True, there wasn't really much _point_ to it…especially when Angela was just going to die alongside the rest of humanity in a matter of weeks, regardless.

But she was already here, after all, and it _would_ be a nice way to make up with the hummingbird for her earlier slip-up. The Jibakushin fed directly off feelings of malice and vengeance, and while inflicting sweet retribution upon Angela could in no way compare to the meal a Signer represented, the bitch might at least make for a decent snack.

Carly only had to lie in wait for a couple of minutes before Angela returned to her desk, intensely scrutinizing the transcript of an interview with Shoji Manjoume. She was so focused on her work that Carly began to doubt whether she should've even bothered hiding herself.

Several ideas for inflicting payback, some more lethal than others, danced across Carly's mind as she stared at the back of the other reporter's head. It was probably best that she get this over with quickly; she still needed to grab that paper and then rendezvous with Misty before too long, after all.

But that didn't mean she couldn't have a _little_ bit of fun with her first…

Carly moved to begin approaching the blonde reporter from behind, but fell back into the shadows almost immediately as the door to the office slammed open. Someone was here to see Angela, and judging by the fact that the door had nearly been knocked off its hinges, they _weren't_ happy about it.

As such, the Dark Signer's mind began to whirl with regard to whether she should come back and finish this later…but all thoughts of leaving died quietly as she saw the face of Angela's visitor.

"I'm sick and tired of getting the damn runaround from your secretary! You _will_ answer my questions, and you're going to answer them _now!_" shouted Jack Atlas, striding forward and slamming a fist upon her desk.

"Jack…" Carly whispered under her breath, scarcely believing her fortune – and unsure whether it was a good or bad one. The cards had foretold that they wouldn't confront each other until the Day of Judgment.

To see him now, resplendent and full in view just meters away…

Ultimately, Carly just shrank back out of indecision, letting the conversation unfold.

"Well, what exactly is it that you want, _former King?_" asked Angela, apparently unimpressed by the duelist's confrontational demeanor.

Jack's face tensed at the disparaging title, but he seemed to let it slide as he answered, "It has to do with _this._"

He then pulled a heavily crumpled paper from his coat and threw it onto her desk. It was an obituary page, with one of the articles circled in heavy red pen. As Carly's inhuman vision focused in upon it, she soon realized who exactly the obituary was for…

Herself.

"Yeah, I wrote this. And a couple hundred others just like it this year alone," Angela said with disinterest. "What of it?"

Jack jabbed a finger at the last paragraph. "Right here!" he bellowed, his other hand pressed into a tight fist. "_Carly Nagisa leaves behind no kin apart from her mother, who wholeheartedly requests that she be contacted should any additional information about her daughter's present state be uncovered._"

"And your point is…?" Angela replied in a drawl. She earned another ground-shaking fist upon her desk for her troubles.

"My _point_ is that her contact information isn't listed in the damn article! And no one at this paper seems willing to tell me over the phone!" the blond duelist responded. "So I came here in person to demand some fucking answers!"

"It isn't our policy to print random people's addresses and phone numbers for all to see," said Angela with a roll of the eyes. "And I'm going to guess nobody wanted to tell _you_ because you kept shouting at them. Why would we endanger a source by connecting them to someone who's just going to yell their ear off?"

"I am _not_ going to yell at her!" yelled Jack.

Angela let that hang in the air for a few moments, before asking, "So…why _do_ you want her contact info in the first place? Do you _have_ some 'additional information' to share?"

Jack immediately drew back, growing visibly flustered. "I…well…" he stammered, before erupting into another great shout. "How the hell is this any kind of _your_ business, anyway?!"

"It isn't, necessarily," stated Angela with a smirk. "But regardless, right now I'm the one holding information _you_ want. And in exchange, I'd just _love_ to know exactly why Jack Atlas, famed pro-duelist, is so damn obsessed with the death of some no-name klutz of a repor…"

She was unable to finish that sentence, however, before Jack brought down his fist again…this time smashing a decorative ornament on her desk to pieces. "You _don't_ get to talk about her like that!" he roared, getting right up in her face.

Her mask of casual detachment melted away in an instant, replaced by abject terror; he was quite clearly _not_ fucking around.

Instinctively, her hand began reaching under her desk, searching for the silent alarm switch.

He preempted her, however, by adding, "By the way, if you were planning on doing anything stupid…you should probably know I'm currently staying as the Director's honored guest. I had breakfast with a Security Officer and the Director's personal secretary just a couple hours ago."

Slowly, she withdrew her hand, but shifted her expression to one of determined defiance. "So what? Are you going to threaten to have me arrested if I don't comply, then?" Angela demanded.

"I'm not going to threaten anything if you just give me the damn number already," said Jack, glaring fiercely.

She seemed to be taking a long time to mull over this, before finally sighing and beginning to tap at her keyboard. A moment later a printout appeared from a nearby machine.

"Just take it and go, then," she murmured, not meeting his eyes. "But, for what it's worth…whatever I thought of Carly as a reporter, I never wanted her dead. And I certainly didn't wish this on the woman who raised her. She's been through enough already, so…don't make it any worse for her. Please."

"That's the last thing I ever want to do," replied Jack quietly, before snapping up the paper and leaving without another word.

[-]

In the rush to chase after Jack, thoughts of exacting vengeance on Angela were quickly forgotten as Carly moved silently through the building.

That peculiar mental block seemed to have fled from her mind as well, as she quickly snapped up a few papers from the lobby and stuffed them under her cloak, not breaking her stride as she raced to keep up with the blond duelist.

Her mind, too, was racing to process what had just occurred. Carly hadn't even _thought_ to check for her own obituary at any point over the past few weeks (not that it would've mattered much, because as Demak had noted, they didn't have internet access in their underground citadel).

To think that not only had _Angela_ written it, but apparently, contacted her mother about it as well…

It'd been over two years since they'd last spoken. Not so much as an e-mail or a Christmas card since. So why would she…?

Carly shook her head as she leapt from one rooftop to the next, deciding that trying to follow that mental path to its conclusion was pointless. Better just to find out directly.

Below her, Jack was pushing his way through the crowd with all the subtlety of a freight train, which at least made him easy to shadow.

_Where_ exactly he was going was less clear, but eventually his movement patterns made it clear that he had no precise destination in mind; he was glancing down every alleyway they passed, apparently looking for a place he wouldn't be disturbed.

Eventually, he seemed to settle on one, and ensconced himself on the far side of a dumpster. Were Carly not looking down from so high above, he would indeed be completely hidden.

This puzzled the Dark Signer for a moment, before she recalled a piece of Jack's and Angela's earlier exchange: Jack was staying with Rex Goodwin, presumably along with the other Signers (which, Carly suddenly noted, was probably something she should mention to Rudger…in the unlikely event that he didn't already know).

If he wanted to make a private phone call, returning "home" might not be an option.

In any event, Carly hid herself behind a vent on the roof, focusing with all her might on the young man below. Despite the distance, her hearing was far beyond the capabilities of any human…meaning that if she concentrated hard enough, she could pick up the conversation as clearly as if it was happening a meter away.

Both sides of it.

"_Hello? Who is this?"_

Jack gripped onto the phone tightly, remaining silent for a few more moments before answering, "My name is Jack Atlas, and I…!"

"_Never heard of you."_

This seemed to fluster Jack for a moment. "How can you not…?!" he blurted out, apparently without thinking. "I'm the most famous professional duelist in all of Japan, for God's sake!"

There was a derisive snort on the other end of the line.

"_So…what? You're trying to sell me some cards or something? Well then, you can just hang the hell up right now, because I'm not…!"_

"No, nothing like that!" exclaimed Jack, gritting his teeth in exasperation. He took a deep breath to calm himself down, before adding, "This…this is about your daughter."

There was a lengthy pause, then…

"…_What?"_

"This _is_ Suzuki Nagisa, correct?" asked Jack in a softer voice. "Mother of Carly Nagisa? I read her obituary."

Another pause.

"_Oh, I…I see. I'm sorry, I just…I'd forgotten all about it. I told that reporter woman everything I could, but…no one ever called. Before you, I mean…"_

There seemed to be some sort of muffled sound – one which Carly could almost swear sounded a lot like sniffling – on the other end now.

"I apologize. I didn't want to cause you more pain," he said, in that frank and blunt way that was so distinctly _Jack._ "But I got to know Carly very well. I thought you might want to hear what I have to say."

"_Oh God…yes, please! Just…tell me first, and tell me straight. Do you know for _certain_ what happened to her?"_

Jack tensed up at this; without realizing it, Carly did as well. Finally he responded, "No…No, I do not. But I know how I'm going to find out. And I _will._"

"_Do you…really mean that?"_

"More than I've ever meant anything in my entire life," stated Jack with conviction, his head held high. "Look…I can't promise that I can tell you everything. I don't want anyone else getting involved in this if they don't have to. But if you have any questions, anything I can do to set your mind at ease…I'll do my best."

"_In that case, Atlas-san…could you tell me how you know my daughter?"_

Carly didn't miss her mother's use of the present tense.

"That's…a complicated story," Jack replied after a few moments. "The short answer is we met because she was writing an article on me. And when things went south, she…helped me out. Gave me a place to stay for a little while."

"_Didn't you say you were some famous duelist or something? Why would you need 'a place to stay' from someone like Carly?"_

Jack pinched his brow. "I'd rather not get into all the messy details," he said. "But here's what's clear: I was at my lowest point, and she brought me back. That's the reason I'm the man I am today. And I'll never be able to repay her for it."

His tone was shifting as he spoke, becoming softer and less rough with each word. "I…I tried to," the Signer continued after a lengthy pause. "By pushing her away, keeping her out of it. I was going after something _truly_ dangerous, and I couldn't think of any way other way to protect her."

"_Then I guess you didn't really know Carly at all. Because if there's one thing I know about my daughter…it's how nothing will stop her when she's got a story in her sights. Nothing _can_ stop her."_

"Yes…I know now that it was a mistake," Jack admitted, sounding so remarkably vulnerable in that one moment that he barely even seemed himself. "If I'd let her tag along like she wanted to, at least I could have…I could've kept an eye on her. But I didn't. And she paid the price."

"_But…but, wait. You said…"_

"I don't _know_ whether she's dead or alive. That's the truth," Jack murmured, a catch in his throat. "But I won't lie – if she _is_ alive, she's in grave danger. So I don't know whether the mission I'll be going on soon will be a rescue…or revenge. But either way…"

His fist clenched tight. "I _will_ do whatever it takes to find out the truth!" he declared, authority and determination returning to his voice. "And I'll tear apart _anyone_ who gets in my fucking way!"

There was a long period of silence on the other end of the line. Finally, hoarsely, Suzuki Nagisa spoke up once more.

"…_You're in love with my daughter, aren't you?"_

Jack froze in place, the phone nearly slipping out of his hand as he tensed up in shock. Some distance away, Carly did likewise.

"Wh…What do you…?" stammered Jack through clenched teeth. "_How_ did you…?"

"_I don't really need an answer, Atlas-san. You've already said more than enough to make it clear. You sound so much like my husband used to, in a way…and that's all I need to know for sure."_

There was a pause, as Jack continued to stare forward in stunned silence, before the woman went on.

"_If you're really that determined to save Carly…then I want you to promise me something. When – and I _mean _'when,'_ not _'if' – you find her alive, there're some things I'd like you to tell her on my behalf. Can you do that for me?"_

Jack took a deep, rattling breath, steeling his entire body as if in anticipation of her next reply…before finally saying, "…Yes."

"_Please…tell her that I'm so sorry for the last words we spoke to each other. Tell her I didn't mean any of it."_

"_Tell her that her mother misses her every damn day."_

"_Tell her that I forgive every mistake she's ever made…every little thing that ever came between us. And that I'm ready to apologize for every time I wronged _her_ in return."_

"_Tell her…that her father's death wasn't her fault. It wasn't mine. It wasn't _anyone's._"_

"_Tell her that she's the smartest, most beautiful, most perfect little girl in the world. Tell her that I couldn't be prouder of the woman she grew up to be."_

"_Tell her…that her mother loves her. Always…"_

When this flood of words came to an end, it wasn't because Suzuki Nagisa was out of things to say; it was because her voice had grown so incredibly strained and weak that she simply couldn't speak any longer.

Jack, for his part, seemed unsure of what to say in response…while Carly seemed unsure of even what to _think._

Everything she'd just heard flew directly in the face of everything she knew about the world. So far as Carly Nagisa was concerned, her mother had ceased to exist two years ago…and it'd been almost four since they'd spoken to each other without thinly veiled contempt undergirding every word.

The obvious explanation, of course, was that Suzuki Nagisa was lying. But then, that simply begged the question: _why?_ Why would she pour all this out to a complete stranger – at no real benefit to herself – if it wasn't true?

Carly clutched at herself, only barely realizing in time that her composure was beginning to slip, and grasping back at it tightly. She was only vaguely aware that Jack was still speaking into the phone, shaking her head and tuning back in only as he was hanging up.

The blond duelist, for his part, remained still for a fair amount of time after pocketing his cell phone. Carly couldn't see his face, but his entire body was tensed up, not a muscle moving or relaxing as the wind softly billowed the edges of his coat.

Finally, wordlessly, he strode out of that alleyway.

Carly moved to follow after him, but pulled herself back just as quickly. If what he'd told Angela was true – and Carly had no reason to doubt him in that regard – then he was staying with Rex Goodwin now. And even for an avatar of Death, assaulting the Director's mansion might prove…_problematic._ Rudger had said as much, the other day.

Besides…Carly wasn't really in a fit state to confront him today, anyway. She was still quite shaken by what she'd just heard, and even as she tried to shut it out of her mind and focus on the task at hand, she knew it would be haunting her for the rest of the day.

In any event, it didn't really matter. The day when they would next meet was coming soon enough.

It was Destiny, after all.

[-]

When Carly found Misty about fifteen minutes later, she was sitting daintily on a park bench and softly chuckling at something a little boy had just said.

There were four of them, all elementary school age and all chatting excitedly. Carly almost had to smile; it was obvious why Misty was happy to have them around, but would _they_ be so jovial if they knew they were laughing it up with a dead woman?

In any event, once Misty noticed her approaching, she gave a slight nod and told the children, "I'm afraid I've got a bit of grown-up business to get to, kids. But we're gonna play again soon, okay?"

"You mean it, Misty-sama?" demanded a young girl with a pronounced lisp. "Really soon?"

"I promise," Misty said with the tiniest of smiles. "In only a few short days, everyone in this _city_ is going to be playing together."

"Wow…cool!" cried a third child, pumping his arms up in the air. "We'll see you then, Misty-sama!"

As soon as the children were out of earshot, Carly sat down next to her mentor and whispered, "I'm surprised you'd be so disingenuous with them. Not that I particularly mind, but…it doesn't really seem like you."

Misty folded her hands in her lap, the smile disappearing completely from her face. "I haven't been 'like me' for quite a bit of time now," she replied quietly. "I'm just glad it'll all be over soon."

"Misty-san…" murmured Carly with concern.

The other Dark Signer just shook her head, however.

"Besides…it isn't _really_ a lie, is it?" she asked, her expression brightening back up a bit. "These children will lose their mortal bodies once the Underworld and the Earth are as one; that is true. But once each and every one of their souls have been harvested…in a sense, they really _will_ all be together. Preserved for eternity in the bosom of our gods."

"Hmm…I suppose I never really thought about it that way before," said Carly thoughtfully. "Do you really think we'll be able to save _everyone_ that way?"

Misty sighed – or she would've, if she still breathed. "Honestly…no," she admitted. "Realistically speaking, it's going to be a bloodbath no matter what we do. Any who die from unrelated causes – falling rubble or car crashes or such – may simply end up being casualties of War, and nothing else. I don't like it, but…well, in the end…"

"The utopia that the King shall craft in the aftermath will be well worth it," Carly finished for her, nodding with determination. "We both know that. We've both seen it."

"Yes…we have," stated Misty after a brief pause, before shaking her head and attempting to smile again. "Well…enough about that. Did you accomplish your business here?"

Carly extracted the rolled up Daily Duels from her cloak and nodded again. "Hopefully this will satisfy Demak," she said. "How about you?"

Misty shrugged her shoulders. "It only took me about five minutes to find the wrench they asked for," answered the other Dark Signer. "Even had plenty of time left over to find Kiryu a CD. I figure he deserves a reward for being a little bit less of a pain in the ass than usual lately."

That got a small laugh out of Carly. It was rather short-lived, however, as Misty followed up by asking, "So…why _did_ it take you so long, anyway? I've been waiting here nearly an hour."

Carly didn't respond for a little while, and when she finally did, it was without making eye contact. "I think we'd better start heading back. It won't be much longer to sunset," she muttered distantly.

Misty looked stunned by the sudden change in demeanor, but did not pry. Carly was grateful for that. Much as Rudger was always going on about how there were to be no secrets amongst their "family," well…there were certain things she preferred to keep locked away in her own head.

Of course, it wasn't like even _that_ was an entirely private place anymore. Inwardly, as she and Misty got up from the bench and began the trek out of the city, she beseeched the god that dwelled within her heart for its opinion.

It did not hesitate to give it.

_I have made no secret of My…ambivalence…toward your plan for the Signer of the Wings, My host. This is why. Your judgment and keen mind for strategy – otherwise impeccable – are invariably skewed with regard to him._

"That isn't how I see it," she whispered within her own mind, though her mouth remained closed and her face remained impassive. "On the contrary…Jack is the one subject on which my judgment _always_ holds true."

_Believe Me, Carly Nagisa…it is only because I am well aware that I cannot dissuade you from this path, that I choose not to stand in your way. If it is a mistake, then it is yours to make._

"And I appreciate that," said Carly, entirely sincerely. "Truly, I do."

_Then what is the matter?_

Many things flashed through Carly's mind as she struggled to come up with an adequate answer for this. Memories of long days spent gazing over great stretches of farmland toward the horizon, longing to experience a life beyond it…of long nights, hunched over a beat-up journal and scribbling furiously as she honed the one craft that made her feel truly special…

She saw one man who believed in her dreams, and a hundred others who did not…countless days of humiliation, until that fateful night it'd all come crashing down…

Successes and failures, big scoops and colossal duds – a remarkably full career, bursting with the greatest highs and the most miserable lows, cut short when she'd least expected it…

Most of all, though, swimming through her mind's eye were three faces, each turned away from her. One was a man whom she didn't go a day without missing; the first person she'd ever killed, although certainly far from the last.

The man who had paid the price for her former self's weakness. Her foolishness and frivolousness and stupidity. Her greatest mistake, marked forever in the form of a kindly smile she would never see again.

Losing him had been the start of the Darkness in her Heart, she knew – the Darkness now so great that it threatened to swallow up this entire planet and never let go. In some ways, therefore, she knew that it'd _needed_ to happen. Destiny was at play here, and she had no say in the matter.

Even four years later, though…that didn't make it hurt any less.

The second face was lined and worn, a life of stress and worry resulting in wrinkles decades before they should've manifested. It was of a woman she _hated,_ far more deeply than her petty rivalry with Angela and far more personally than her general loathing of the Signers.

And it was of a woman who hated her back in return. Or, at least…it was _supposed_ to be.

Basic logic would dictate that it be so, after all. There was no reason why, after countless arguments and vicious insults and cold stares – after she'd done her utmost to shackle her family down to a world without a future, only to be abandoned by a slain husband and a spiteful daughter – she should feel anything other than resentment for the child who'd fled with nary a glance backward.

That after all that, the sanctimonious bitch could still be in a state of mind where Carly was at the forefront of her thoughts…and not in the cold, methodical sense of simply wanting to know what'd happened to her for its own sake, but with such an active _misery_ in her voice…

It made Carly distinctly uncomfortable. Mostly because acknowledging that it was truly the case would also mean accepting that there was something worthwhile in the Carly Nagisa of Ayasato, who'd been tossed aside long ago so that the Carly Nagisa of Neo Domino City might live anew…and who, in turn, had been summarily executed to make room for Carly Nagisa, the Dark Queen of this world.

Which brought Carly to the final face.

Some people might find it strange just how deeply ingrained Jack Atlas had become in her heart; they'd only known each other for a matter of weeks, after all. But those people most assuredly had never been in love.

Neither had Carly herself, she knew now. Every other bond of affection she'd experienced across her twenty years of life simply paled in comparison, like flickering light bulbs set against a blazing sun.

It wasn't just that he was a gorgeous specimen of the human form, or that he was a world-famous duelist of nearly unmatchable skill. Both were true, of course, and certainly increased his appeal in her eyes. But those were fuel for silly schoolgirl crushes, the likes of which she'd had on any number of pop singers when she was a teenager.

What she felt now was…_different._

If nothing else, she had the ultimate proof in the simple fact that her feelings hadn't changed one iota after dying. Becoming one with a literal god had widened her perspective in so many ways; it wasn't like her former, weak self would've been able to stomach killing _one_ person, much less the millions that would need to be sacrificed to ensure a better world.

Yet even as a walking corpse, his stoic face and piercing, violet eyes captured her unbeating heart just as thoroughly as they had when she'd still been alive…if not moreso.

Still, it wasn't as if she'd ever expected him to return those affections. Not yet, anyway. In all the time they'd been together, she'd been her usual klutzy, spastic, useless self – hardly girlfriend material, by any stretch of the imagination.

That was why she'd decided to accept this power in the first place, after all. To _make_ herself worthy of him. The perfect Dark Queen to the King of Riding Duels.

And yet…after what she'd just heard…

Carly shook her head. He'd never actually responded to her mother's accusations, merely reacted with shock…and really, who _wouldn't_ in that situation? This was just Suzuki Nagisa jumping to conclusions, like she always did.

That was what she told herself, at least. But her thoughts wouldn't remain this jumbled up and murky if she was entirely certain.

Because on the off-chance that her mother's claim had been right on the money…the very foundation of who she was now would crumble away in an instant.

What if, simply to entertain the thought…he _had_ fallen in love with her in turn? What if all she'd done to reshape herself into his perfect partner had been for naught?

Or worse…what if the manner in which she had changed caused him to _rescind_ that love? Every improvement that her god had made upon her mind, body, and soul had been for the better; she knew that.

But was there any guarantee _he_ would agree?

Finally, with all this coursing through her mind in a tangled mess, the answer to her Jibakushin's question echoed in a quiet whisper: "I don't know…"

_Then…allow Me to set your mind at ease._

She listened, rapturously.

_There is a reason that I chose you, Carly Nagisa…above every other human that has ever before died._

_Most of My brethren chose quickly, but I was patient. I knew that eventually, a truly unique soul would come to the Underworld. One that would give Me strength. One whom I could _give_ strength._

_Your indomitability, your everlasting persistence…none can stop you when you set your mind, and consequently, none can stop _Us._ Do not allow petty fears and doubts to sneak into your Heart, and defeat what a thousand enemies could not._

_If this man, the Signer, is what you truly desire…then let _nothing_ else matter._

_Draw strength from the pain of your past, but do not dwell on it._

_And bring to a Final End all else that remains._

_Are We understood?_

"Yes…yes, we are," answered Carly aloud, her downcast expression dissipating in an instant. "Thank you…"

This one, Misty heard, and she turned to her pupil with a small smile. "Did you have a good talk?" she asked kindly.

She didn't need to request context, even if she hadn't actually heard the conversation itself. She could gather the important details entirely from the other Dark Signer's physiognomy, which had brightened considerably.

"The best," Carly told her, returning the smile; if it were capable of doing so with its beak, Aslla piscu would likely have done the same.

"Now…let's go home."


End file.
